Nobody Cares If Music Is Real Anymore

The traffic receded as Chicago withdrew into the distance behind me on Interstate 90. The speakers in my rental car, playing Spotify from my smartphone, put out the opening riff of a laid-back psychedelic-rock song. When the lyrics came, delivered in a folksy vibrato, they matched my mood: "Smoke in the sky / No peace found," the band's vocalist sang. Except perhaps he didn't really sing, because he doesn't exist. By all appearances, neither does the band, called the Velvet Sundown.