SCP-952
rating: +79+x

Item #: SCP-952

Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures: Musical projects under the effects of SCP-952 are to be terminated by any means possible, and any physical media storing recordings of SCP-952-influenced music are to be copied onto a Standardized Type-C antimemetic storage device, then destroyed. Venues that have hosted SCP-952-infected musicians are to be closed until such a point when it can be confirmed that none of the staff are affected.

Development of a countermemetic agent to combat SCP-952 is underway. Until its completion, all individuals affected by SCP-952 are to be detained.

As a precaution, Foundation agents in the music industry should seek to discredit "math rock" as a genre, until such a time when SCP-952 is fully contained. Relevant personnel should refer to Document 952-32 for more details.

Description: SCP-952 is an anomalous subgenre of math rock known as "NP Rock", defined primarily by a specific arrangement of instrumental configurations, subject matter, and esoteric musical technique. Evidence suggests that the culmination of these components is the cause of SCP-952's anomalous properties.

Upon listening to an SCP-952 composition, subjects will instantly identify SCP-952 as a distinctive musical genre. Furthermore, periodic listening (defined by listening to at least one composition per day) creates further anomalous effects:

  • Following 1 week of periodic listening, subjects with musical experience learn how to recreate SCP-952 compositions.
  • After 4 weeks of periodic listening, subjects with musical experience will find themselves unable to perform any musical piece outside of SCP-952.
  • From week 4 onward, subjects undergo significant changes in personality. Such changes differ between subjects; however, in all cases, it's been observed that existing romantic relationships become completely untenable.
  • From week 12 onward, listening to any non-SCP-952 composition produces marked distress in subjects.

The earliest known instance of SCP-952 appears to have been Highway Ash, an album released by a band known as "House of Spades" in 20██. As of 09/28/20██, it's estimated that at least ████ SCP-952 compositions remain uncontained.

Interview Log [952-01]:

Interviewed: Veronica Fitzroy

Interviewer: Agent Hae

Foreword: Ms. Fitzroy, who played drums for House of Spades, maintained a public presence following its break-up, the only member to do so. The Foundation contacted her for an interview, under the guise that she would be speaking to a Pitchfork columnist.

<Begin Log>

Agent Hae: Good morning, Ms. Fitzroy.

Fitzroy: Please, Margaret, call me Veronica. Ms. Fitzroy was the long dead historical occult figure whose last name I stole…

(7 second silence)

Fitzroy:… too wordy? Eh, Izzy1 was the lyricist. But nah, Veronica's good.

Agent Hae: Very well, mi-Veronica, apologies. Well, to start off, I actually wanted to talk about your work in House of Spades. I've listened and I have to say, I'm impressed. It's not like anything out there, at least from the "out there" I've heard.

Fitzroy: Huh, thank you. Yeah, that was probably some of my best work, there. Got a favorite? Self Titled? Highway Ash? David Cameron Fucked a Dead Pig?

Agent Hae: As much as I'd love to discuss how you came up with… that, I have to say that I'm most interested in discussing the engineering work you performed on Highway Ash.

Fitzroy: Heh, nerd. Yeah, no, that was a ton of fun, but I can't really be taking all the credit for that. Jack2 was pretty much the eyes to my hands, and vice versa. Izzy helped, too, and Sara3 had her moments of useful idiocy. But it was mostly just us two. Easier that way.

Agent Hae: Even so, it's magical. I know Spades has been pigeonholed into "math rock", but it truly feels like something else.

Fitzroy: Oh, yeah, that was deliberate. Not even mad everyone ended up copying us. Starting a new genre of music's always fun, 'specially when I get to name it something stupid, like "NP rock".

Agent Hae: It certainly is an interesting choice of name. You don't mind if I ask you why, do you?

Fitzroy: Okay, so, you know how P doesn't equal NP?

Agent Hae: Correct.

Fitzroy: (Brief pause) NP rock wasn't some spur-of-the-moment bullshit. It took careful planning and consideration, especially on the part of me and Jack. You ever try making a sound that doesn't exist?

Agent Hae: I'm… you know, I'm sure everyone has, at some point.

Fitzroy: Hard as fuck, yeah. Brain isn't wired to say nonsense like [COGNITOHAZARD REDACTED], or whatever. Means what NP Rock is isn't easy to define. But it's easy to verify, once you hear it. Moreover, it's easy to copy… I mean, that's the whole intention, anyway. I wanted to shake up a genre that's been stagnating since TTNG.

Agent Hae: Ah. Well, you've certainly revolutionized-

Fitzroy: It was more… sabotage, I'd say.

Agent Hae: … I beg your pardon?

Fitzroy: I don't know what Jack was thinking when he first floated the idea, probably something stupid. Weed plans tend to be stupid. But, again, I really only had one plan in mind: I wanted to turn the genre into a depressing sinkhole. With it, I wanted to take any joy Sara ever had, and crush it under my boots.

(Agent Hae attempts to say something, but is interrupted by Fitzroy)

Fitzroy: Sara only ever had two things: music, and a flighty, hedonistic shitbag of a girlfriend. Between cutting her fingers off and ruining math rock, well, one would land me in jail, and the other puts me up there with Mike Kinsella and Zach Hill. Sorta wished Izzy would've offed herself first, but I guess watching her become Brinegash4 is as good a consolation prize as any.

Agent Hae: I… forgive me, that's an awful thing to say about someone. Moreover, I'm… not certain what this has to do with Sara's relationships.

Fitzroy: Sis, you can't be giving scores to a genre you don't get. The whole fucking genre's a testament to the inability of hipster nerds to hold down a date. Just listen to Wayne Szalinski, or Polvo, or TTNG, or [COGNITOHAZARD REDACTED], or even just fucking Kinsella singing in whatever shower that stupid house probably never had. Surround yourself in misery and that's what you get. Even better when the misery's syncopated to the beat of a soul.

Agent Hae: I apologize, but "the beat of a soul" feels somewhat loaded. Care to unpack what you mean?

Fitzroy: Sure! First question from me, though: Do you people always play dumb?

Agent Hae: … Excuse me?

Fitzroy: It's a serious question. Every soul operates on a similar frequency. The key's reaching out on what that frequency is, and right now, you're blaring out at narc cycles per second.

Agent Hae: I… listen, I'm not sure what you-

Fitzroy: You somehow know jack shit about NP rock despite listening to it, agreed with my statement about P and NP despite no public proof5, and most importantly, Pitchfork hasn't given a shit about me since they gave my solo album a 2.6. You're either some government occult coalition g-man, in which case holy fuck you're bad at this, or one of Brinegash's girls, which is fucking rich considering that killing me won't bring back Sara, and I'd know, cause Ashy's still dead!

Agent Hae: Ma'am? Are you okay?

Fitzroy: Is that what this is about? Are you just… checking up on me?… Heh, well. Tell Izzy she won. She fucking won, after all these years. I'm a miserable ██████ hag who threw away her shot at a happy life for the sake of petty revenge. But guess what? Sara's still dead, and Izzy will never tune a bass outside [REDACTED] again. So how's that?!

(A loud crashing sound can be heard, which Agent Hae reports came from Fitzroy flinging a vase at the wall behind her. Several seconds of silence follow, before Fitzroy settles back into her chair.)

Fitzroy: My manifesto's in my bedroom, and my will's on the kitchen counter. It's been a pleasure, man. ████ ███ ██ ███ ████ █████.

<End Log>

Closing Statement: Immediately following the conclusion of the interview, Fitzroy pulled a revolver from under her cushion and shot herself through the temple. As of ██/██/20██, Ms. Fitzroy's will has been declassified.

Document 952-02:

I, Veronica Katherine Fitzroy, being of sound body and a sound enough mind to execute my own damn will, as witnessed by Brad Cameron and The Man in Bandages6 (both of whom can deal with the legal bullshit later), declare the division of my estate as follows.

To the Jack of Spades, who knows who he is, and to Madam Brinegash, who also knows who she is, I bequeath the Soul of Sara ██████ ███████. Have fun fighting that out, you bottom-feeding parasites.

Also to the Jack of Spades, who, once again, knows who he is, I bequeath ownership of my share of House of Spade's royalties for all associated albums and EPs except House of Spades (self titled), which was hack guitar work and you absolutely know it. Consider it thanks for helping me program the logistics of Highway Ash knowing full well you'd never get your disgusting squid dick wet again.

To Ana ███████, I bequeath a copy of Confronting Drunk Driving by H. Lawrence Ross. If you're anything like your sister, I'd read it page to page.

To the Goddess of Cider, who holds my beloved Ashy, I bequeath my soul, knowing full well it won't make the journey.

And finally, to Brad Cameron, I bequeath everything else. You truly were the best among us, and I'm sorry for booting you from engineering for the sake of a three-year suicide.

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