Dear Techno,

I’m starting to worry that you might never come back to me. At first, I tolerated you running around with those trashy new software synths or re-living your electro past with that bitchy ex of yours. I figured it was just a phase. But this is getting ridiculous. You may brag to your friends about me, but be honest with yourself: it’s been years since you’ve even touched my power button, much less caressed all my knobs and worked me like you used to.

There was a time when you’d go on and on about all the great noises I made for you — my sexy tom toms and open hi-hats, my sultry claps and snares, that kick drum I do that could hit you in just the right spot all night long. But now you think my midrange is too thick, my treble too tinny. You’d rather automate dozens of functions on those tramps on your laptop then the handful I can offer you.

Sure, I can see the appeal. That software is trim and efficient and it does exactly what you want it to do. It’s flexible and up for anything, I’m just solid and consistent. I can only give you eleven sounds, but it’ll give you anything you want and never complain. I demand work and careful attention, and they’re happy to let you play with their presets all night. And I’m too flabby to do the “minimal” thing that’s so popular these days — but maybe that crowd you run with now can’t remember what it was like to spend a whole night with me.

I might not understand why you’ve left me like this, but I am willing to forgive and forget if you’d just come back to me. I’ll be waiting here, as always, in the corner of your studio.

Yours eternally,
The Roland TR-909 Rhythm Composer