Joe adjusted his mic, the quiet hum of the recording studio filling the space. Across from him, Nelly Furtado leaned forward, her chin resting on her hand, eyes sparkling with curiosity.
“So, Nelly,” Joe began, “have you ever heard of Edward Bernays? Sigmund Freud’s nephew?”
She shook her head. “Freud, sure. But Bernays? No.”
Joe grinned. “He’s the guy who basically invented modern PR. Took his uncle’s theories about the subconscious and applied them to marketing. One of his big ideas? Planned obsolescence.”
Nelly raised an eyebrow. “Like… making stuff that breaks on purpose?”
“Exactly,” Joe said. “It’s not just about things breaking, though. It’s about making people feel like they need the newest, shiniest version of everything. A new car, a new phone, a new identity, even. He made consumption a way of life.”
Nelly frowned. “That’s… kind of dark.”
Joe nodded. “It is. But it’s brilliant in a way, right? He understood that people aren’t just buying things—they’re buying feelings. Aspirations. Belonging. And it worked. Look around. We’re swimming in a sea of stuff, most of it designed to be tossed out.”
There was a pause as the weight of his words settled. Then Joe leaned forward, his tone softening. “But here’s the twist. There’s this concept in Judaism called Tikkun Olam—repairing the world. It’s the idea that the world is inherently broken, but it’s our job to fix it. To heal it.”
Nelly tilted her head. “That’s beautiful. But how does that connect to Bernays and all this… consumerism?”
Joe smiled. “Well, think about it. Planned obsolescence thrives on brokenness. It creates a cycle where things—and sometimes people—are made to feel incomplete, always chasing the next fix. But Tikkun Olam? It’s about breaking that cycle. Instead of exploiting brokenness, it asks us to embrace it, to see it as an opportunity to create something better.”
Nelly sat back, her gaze distant. “So, in a way, Bernays broke the world. And now it’s up to us to fix it?”
“Exactly,” Joe said. “It’s like your music. You’ve written about heartbreak, loss, identity. Those cracks in life—those are where the light gets in, where the repair starts.”
She smiled, a glimmer of inspiration in her eyes. “I like that. Turning the broken into something whole. Maybe that’s what art is supposed to do.”
Joe chuckled. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just the first step. The world’s not going to fix itself, but hey, every song, every story, every act of kindness—that’s a stitch in the fabric.”
The studio fell quiet for a moment, the weight of their conversation hanging in the air. Then Nelly leaned forward, her voice resolute.
“Let’s make something that matters, Joe. Something that doesn’t just fill the void but helps heal it.”
And in that small studio, amidst the hum of recording equipment and the quiet buzz of ideas, the first notes of something transformative began to take shape.
