[ WP ] Humanity is admitted to the Galactic Republic , however they have to meet one condition : to ban the production and distribution of music . Turns out humanity is the only species in the galaxy to create music , and its emotional affects are so potent it can incapacitate or entrance most species ' .

Humans struggle with the act of compromise, but nonetheless the treaty had been signed, ratified; finally. Earth's ambassador was soon to step up to the microphone and deliver a speech which would change the course of human, and indeed galactic, history. The aliens, all thirty-some species had approved our entry with a 274-66 vote in their Galactic Parliament - on one condition: that we remove all trace of music from our existence. In exchange, we would be rewarded with access to technology far beyond our own through trade, the customary 10 seats in the Parliament, and all but guaranteed military protection. 
 
 It had taken fourteen months to get Earth to this point. At first it had been easy - indie artists were easy to buy silence from. Web hosts blocked popular music streaming apps and scanned mp3s,.wavs, and other sound files. The more popular musicians fought back harder against the obtusely named Initiative for Intergalactic Peace and Quiet - the UN campaign to eradicate music. Records were destroyed, CDs were melted, Walkmans and iPods were steamrolled. Obstinate record executives were flung into the sun, teenage pop-stars' vocal cords were severed, Justin Bieber was personally immolated by the President on live TV. Nickelback played their final concert in the Large Hadron Collider. A smash hit. It was regrettably necessary for the survival of our race. The Republic had weapons the likes of which humanity had never seen, and they hated music. With a vengeance. 
 
 See, humanity was n't too keen on wiping out a huge part of our culture, however imperative to our survival it was. Plans had been laid, machinations set into place, schemes schemed, and plots plotted. Favors were called in, hands were dealt and played, mail was blacked, and traps were laid. Behind the scenes, earth's scientists worked covertly to understand just why the aliens hated music so. There were some bio-chemical implications for some of the species, some behavioral impulse control in other species, but the reasons for this were murky at best. Humanity could n't discern if music controlled them, or made them lose control - we were n't sure if it were an existential threat to the alien regime, or if it were a drug. 
 
 We did n't fully understand the War on Music. All we knew was that we thought the aliens would be unable to hold their Republic together if enough of them were exposed. And what better time than on the eve of their victory, when they were all tuned in comfortably to their holo-panels and tele-screens? The grand design itself was realized at only the last minute possible, as the ambassador himself stepped up to the mic. The world, indeed the galaxy watched with baited breath, anticipating the amicable induction of humanity into the Galactic Republic. The speakers crackled, the teleprompter rolled, and the ambassador began his address: 
 
 > **Hey, I was doing just fine before I met you**
