buddha moshes to nirvana

Gold Bar Espresso (Tempe, AZ)

Something has to be said about listening to disco while reading about eastern philosophy. It just feels right. Disco is definitely very Taoist. The music exudes an undeniable "life is sweet and best served chilled" quality. If Lao-Tzu was around today, he would spin deep house and trip-hop on his phat decks during his many house parties. None of this CD nonsense, you know he'd be a record man; bobbing his head and smiling along to the beat. He'd probably have furry furniture too.

Buddha would probably dig on Linkin Park, Staind and System of a Down whine sessions. With the "my suburban life sucks and my momma won't up my allowance" following that rap metal and new metal has, he'd fit right in as the fat poet kid who gets picked by the jocks. Where else would he get his "life is suffering, but I'll acheive a higher consciousness" philosophy? Hours of telling himself that "one day, they'll all regret not seeing how brilliant I am." That's where. He'd probably the type of kid that sings along to Jimmy Eat World between poetry slams and trips to the local Hot Topic. A decade earlier and he would be a skater punk headbanging to Nirvana. In more ways than one.

Ganesh would be a glowstick ninja. Not to that happy "I'm a Barbie girl" anthem bullshit, he'd be a thrasher to the harsher, mind-fucking goa trance. This isn't a matter of ethnicity. Think of it this way: Where could he just enjoy his fucking music in public? Answer: amid a bunch of acid freaks who wouldn't notice that he has an elephant head and four arms. Plus, think about how awesome glowsticking would look with that many limbs.

I think it'd be hilarious if Jesus didn't listen to Creed. He would probably drive His friends around listening to Janet and Coldplay. Obviously, He'd have a soft spot for Norah Jones and maybe have a Celine Dion disc lost in the collection somewhere. He'd enjoy just about every Michelle Branch equivalent popular at the time, but His staple would definitely be Matchbox 20, a bit of the Counting Crows and some Shakira and J. Lo sheepishly thrown into the mix (to which he'd shrug and reply "what can I say? Jesus loves the bootie.") The catch is that the mp3 player on the desk at home has nothing but Tool and Marilyn Manson on it just because you know the Son of God's got a Supreme sense of irony that the people who hang around him are bound to misunderstand.