It’s a Sean story, so it may or may not be true. (This is the standard caveat when passing along the legends of a pathological liar.)
On a college radio station, a late-night deejay was playing some Pierre Boulez (on vinyl, no doubt). A lady called in.
“What are you doing? What is this? This isn’t music. This is just – noise. Why are you playing this? Who wrote this? This is terrible. Why would anybody want to listen…” And so on.
When he could get in a word edgewise, the thankless announcer declared, “I’m sorry, madam, but at the moment all our Ernest Tubb records are at the cleaners.”
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