He nodded his head as if following a beat while his speakers blared out a slow, meandering synth line with no discernible melody and only the most fleeting flirtation with rhythm. It was just random bleeps and buzzes, like a Casio keyboard that had developed a case of arrhythmia, its only conceivable virtue being a passing resemblance to a handful of video game sound effects half-remembered from their childhoods.
“Awesome song,” she lied earnestly. “I love this album.”
“Yeah,” Baz mumbled in a way that suggested he had neither solicited nor appreciated her validation. As if her opinion were just a mild irritant. “It’s not as good as their first one, though.”
“No, it’s definitely different,” Fiona quickly agreed. “But I still like it.”
She didn’t really agree. She didn’t think she’d even heard their first album. She wasn’t actually sure which band this was. She was just used to finding the right thing to say from contextual clues, even when she had no fucking clue what he was talking about.