The Fredösphere

As I walk’d through the wilderness of this world, I lighted on a certain place where was a Conservatory of Music, and I laid me down in that place to sleep; and as I slept, I dreamed a Dream. I dreamed, and behold I saw a Man cloathed in a Black Turtleneck, standing in a certain place, with his face from his own house, a Textbook in his hand, and a great Burden upon his back. I looked, and saw him open the Book, and read therein; and as he read, he wept and trembled; and not being able longer to contain, he brake out with a lamentable cry, saying What shall I do?

I looked then, and saw a man named Neo-Romantic, coming to him, and asked, Wherefore dost thou cry?

He answered, Sir, I perceive by the Book in my hand, that I am condemned to write music with all manner of discordant harmonies, and after that to come to Obscurity, and I find that I am not able to do the first, nor willing to do the second.

Composer no sooner leaves the World but meets
Aaron Copland, who lovingly him greets
With tidings of another: and doth shew
Him how to mount to that from this below.

Then said Neo-Romantic, Why not willing to compose tonal music, since this modernist crappe is attended with so many evils? The Man answered, Because I fear that this burden that is upon my back will sink me lower than the Grave, and I shall fall into disfavor with Aworks and Listen. And, Sir, the thoughts of these things make me cry.

So I saw in my Dream that the Man began to run.

Now he had not run far from his own door, but his fellow music professors and his Dean, perceiving it, began to cry after him to return, and did begin to beat upon their pianos with their forearms; but the Man put his fingers in his ears, and ran on, crying Tonality! Tonality! Eternal Tonality!

The Neighbors also came out to see him run; and as he ran, some mocked, others threatened, and some cried after him to return; and among those that did so, there were two that resolved to fetch him back by force. The name of the one was Dodecaphony, and the name of the other Aleatoric. Then said the Man, Neighbors, wherefore are you come? They said, To persuade you to go back with us. But he said, That can by no means be; you dwell, said he, in the City of Noise.

Dodecaphony and Aleatoric follow him

  Dodec.  What, said Dodecaphony, and leave your Learned Journals and your Tenure behind you!
  Com.  Yes, said Composer, for that was his name, because that all which I shall forsake is not worthy to be compared with a little of that that I am seeking to enjoy:  namely, dissonances that resolve; also musical works that, when they end, the audience knows to start clapping.

Composer and Dodecaphony pull for Aleatoric’s soul

  Ale.  Well, Neighbor Dodecaphony, said Aleatoric, I intend to go along with this good man, but, my good companion, do you know the way to this desired place?

Aleatoric contented to go with Composer

  Com.  I am directed by a man, whose name is Neo-Romantic.
  Ale.  Come then, good Neighbor, let us be going. Then they went both together.
  Dodec.  And I will go back to my place, said Dodecaphony; I will be no companion of such mis-led, fantastical fellows.

Dodecaphony goes railing back to his RCA Synthesizer

  Now I saw in my Dream, that when Dodecaphony was gone back, Composer and Aleatoric went talking over the Plain; and thus they began their discourse.

Talk between Composer and Aleatoric

  Ale.  Come, Neighbor Composer, since there are none but us two here, tell me now further what the things are, and how to be enjoyed, whither we are going?
  Com.  I will read of them to you in my Music Theory Text.
  Ale.  And do you think that the words of your Theory are certainly true?
  Com.  Yes, verily; for it is based on the overtone series and the laws of physics, that cannot lye.
  Ale.  And what if notes were not determined by any law of physics, but rather by the roll of dice, or by the computations of a thinking machine?
  Com.  That would suck, yea verily.

Aleatoric notices for the first time the burden on Composer's back.

Ale.  How now, good fellow, whither away after this burdened manner?
Chr.  A burdened manner indeed, as ever I think poor creature had. And whereas you ask me, Whither away? I tell you, Sir, this sack on my back, is filled with diverse instruments of unnatural tuning, each fashioned by Harry Partch; and I also seem to recall that there is a piano in there, with various objects stuck between the strings, which give its notes a perverse quality....

Here endeth the parody.  Completing it is left as an exercise for the reader.  It will write itself -- trust me.