The weekly Rock Band session is an age-old tradition at Yale’s Phi Beta Kappa frat house. Every Thursday, the couch is pushed against the wall, the drumming stool is pulled out from beneath the table that holds the gravity bong, and the boys decide what new downloadable content they want to buy. Then they get ready to rock.

But this week is different.

The song starts. A minute goes by without notes. The makeshift band is confused, but nobody says anything. They patiently wait for notes to appear. Perhaps the song has a long lead-in? James Brent, the fraternity’s leader and fake-bass guitarist, finally says what everybody is thinking, “Is this shit broken?”

No, James. It’s not broken. It’s John Cage’s 4′33”.

Brent hits pause. He turns in his chair and addresses an audience of fraternity brothers and the stupid drunk chicks that want to fuck them. “I can’t believe we paid for this broken-ass shit,” he says. “Who suggested we buy this?”

No one says anything.

“No, really,” Brent continues. “Who was it?”

The jovial mood of the room has turned deadly. One of the girls suggests they fire up some Paramore, but Brent is in no mood to play their refreshing brand of emo/pop/punk. He sneers at her. She’s escorted out of the room by her red-faced date.

“I fucking paid for music. This is not music. Who the fuck told me to download this shitty nothing-track?” Brent asks.

David Carmichael, the band’s lead guitarist, meekly raises his hand. “I did.”

Brent grins and laughs as he pulls his guitar strap off. “Yeah. Of course, you did. Who the fuck is John Cage?”

“He’s a band.”

“John Cage is a band? What kind of fucking band plays a song that doesn’t have any music to it? And why would you think that any of us would want to play it?”

Carmichael closes his eyes. He’s been caught in a lie. “I… I thought it was John Legend. I don’t know who John Cage is.” There are whispers in the crowd. Someone chucks an empty beer can at his head. He stares down at the ground.

Brent sighs. “Someone write down that Dave owes me a dollar. Where the fuck is my bong? I’m gonna shred the shit out of Evermore.”

Brent takes the game back to the song list and the party back to happier times. David Carmichael continues to play the lead guitar, but didn’t speak a word for the rest of the party. Later that night, he smokes a bowl of White Widow, reads the entirety of John Cage’s Wikipedia page, and feels like a fucking idiot.

Additional reporting from Hardcasual’s own Filipe Salgado.