Mr. Sitar Dead, Not Special He’s Got Skin That’s Blue and Cold Ain’t No Good for Nothing But to Fill a Hole Six Feet in the Ground

Or

Shanked

(More chapeau doffing for Monty)
Ravi Shankar, who stroked George Harrison’s pretentiousness in much the same way Yoko stroked John’s, has died of complications from heart surgery at the age of 92. Without the influence of the legendary sitarist, the world might have missed out on the  annoying twang in such songs as BJ Young’s Hooked on a Feeling an Shakira’s Gypsy, as well as countless others from artists trying to add cache and depth to crappy pop songs. Shankar and his ensemble started touring the US in the 1950s, developing a following among beret-wearing, goateed beatniks. Harrison found a sitar and became intrigued. The rest of the Beatles, not happy enough with merely proclaiming themselves bigger than Jesus, decided to see just how far they could push their popularity and let him play one on Norwegian Wood. Sensing that future music historians would proclaim The Beatles the most influential band of all time, groups like The Rolling Stones, The Animals and The Byrds quickly followed suit to avoid falling behind in their sheepdom. Assuming that if audiences went crazy for white guys playing the sitar badly, they’d completely lose their shit for someone who knew what he was doing, Shankar expanded his touring and recording and found that, yes, Americans really are that dumb. In later years, Shankar became offended when he realized that rather than revolutionizing music, his twangy board was really just a fad that wasted hippies found soothing.