A recent discovery at WSU may change the fate of music forever.

Deep in the bowels of the Kimbrough Music Building, tucked away in a secret practice room, music minor Harold Hyscoming found a being who claims to be the Oracle of Real Music.

The Evergreen decided to investigate, following the Oracle throughout the past week.

“Hear ye, hear ye!” Hyscoming shouted outside Kimbrough each day. “All ye who enter here, bring forth your music tastes to the Oracle and face the judgment of truth!”

Several approaching students said they knew Hyscoming from their public speaking class.

“It’s nice to know that’s going well for him,” one student said.

Inside, visitors must climb the treacherous heights of Kimbrough to the fourth floor. There, the Oracle waits in the recording studio at the top of the stairs.

Students flocked to the studio, but only a chosen few could enter to hear the Oracle’s word. The Evergreen was at last granted access on the third day, as the Oracle deemed the paper to be a herald of His greatness. Our investigators were allowed to witness the following prophecies.

The first student to enter, Norm E. Guy, presented the Oracle with a copy of Billie Eilish’s “When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go?”

“Tell me, O Great One,” Guy said, “is this real music?”

The Oracle gazed over the album’s shining cover. Then, with a sneer, he threw it to the floor.

“Billie Eyelash isn’t even talented!” he sayeth. “All her music sounds the same. Did you know she records in her bedroom? A toddler could do that!”

In tears, Guy left to go repent his sins by burning the album and regurgitating the Oracle’s words in Eilish’s YouTube comment section.

Next, Aya M. Special entered to share her music.

“All record label music is too mainstream for me,” Special said, handing the Oracle her iPhone X and AirPods. “I only listen to independent artists on SoundCloud who have fewer than 100 followers.”

The Oracle, in his fury, refused to even take Special’s AirPods.

“Thou shalt have no other SoundCloud artists before me!” he said. “If it’s not my third-wave vaportrap funk metal, it’s not worthy of recognition!”

As Special was incinerated by the great power of the soothsayer, a third student entered. Her eyes widened at the sight of the Oracle. She said nothing, but produced a vintage record player from her backpack.

The Oracle nodded, pleased. The student searched through her record collection, found an unmarked vinyl and placed it on the player.

As the opening strains of “Hot N Cold” played, the Oracle screeched.

“Blasphemy!” he shouted. “Katy Perry doesn’t deserve the superior playback format of vinyl! Get out of my sight, all of you!”

The student and our Evergreen correspondent fled. In the hall outside the studio, the student introduced herself as Dew Wattiwant.

Wattiwant said she recognized the Oracle as a fellow third-year music major, with whom she has shared several music courses.

“He’s always sh-tting on other people’s music tastes,” she said. “I knew something like this would happen, so I came prepared. Hopefully he locks himself away in that basement practice room again for a few hundred years. Or at least until I graduate.”