An Open Letter to the Masterchef Orchestra

Dear Masterchef Orchestra,

Let me introduce myself.  My name is Phil, and I've come to the Masterchef phenomenon late in the game.  This is the first season I've watched with any consistency.  I look forward to the Monday night elimination after a hard day's work.  I guess I kind of see it as a reward, a treat of sorts, a way to relax.  There's something enjoyable about watching other people under intense pressure, which is why I also like "Iron Chef" and any show about deep sea diving.  And I'd like to offer a word of encouragement to you, as we move towards the business end of the season.  You see, I'm pretty sure some people have made nasty comments about your constant, insistent, some might say bullish, intrusive and infuriatingly annoying contribution to the show.  Some might say that the way in which you underscore the entire program is unnecessary.  Some might say that your 100% synthetic instrument list (or "lyst" to the Beowulf generation) sounds like a blunt chisel being drilled by an iron-ore bore into the skull of an incredibly resilient chihuahua.  Some might say that your tendency to modulate from a heart-pumping "your life is over" minor key to a popsicle-rainbow "your life is beautiful; I affirm you"  major key at the very moment that the judge stops with the negativity and starts saying what's good about the contestant's dish is either psychotic and indicative of a severely split personality, or a horribly dumbed-down use of musical motif, a dictatorial approach to the lowest-common-denominator of those viewers who are not able to glean, from the expressions of disgust on the judges' faces or the tears streaming down the contestants' cheeks, how they should feel in any given situation.  Some would say you ought to offer your services to the bionic creatures from a Phillip K. Dick novel, those half-human, half-robot creatures who, when confronted with a wilting flower, do not know how to feel, unless some Harrison Ford-like-character can beat them over the head with a bat shouting "Feel bittersweet, dammit!"

But I say, ignore them.  Ignore anyone who makes such hurtful, hateful comments, say "goodnight" and play yourself a tuneful lullaby, to send you off to a sweet, peaceful ad break.  Don't forget the flame-grilled taiko drumbeat.

On a completely different topic, here are two unrelated music clips I've watched in the last couple of days.  See if you can see how they're related.
The Scientist
Chasing Pavements