In an interview with Tablet written by, Ariel Pink decided to recite the lyrics of this song. This sprawling exposé featured band-members and collaborators, but used this segment as the climactic conclusion to the piece; giving context to Pink’s self-purported banality:

I had succeeded in prying Rosenberg away from his theorizing about Agenda 21 and the vaccine scourge. I told him I shared his feeling of technology stifling us, of the culture losing its fun and possibility, of the old music scene having been better, of things generally getting worse. He mentioned a song called “Artifact,” which he said he wrote in 2003, a jangling apocalyptic ballad that appears on Worn Copy. The lyrics ask if art can counteract time’s warping effect on memory, and wonder whether anything can hold transcendent value as the world sinks into an unrecognizably meaningless version of itself.

“I am the son of the future,” Rosenberg began reciting, his head in a crouch, looking at the pavement. “Twenty-five years from now, try recalling the Golden Age, when we heard these words for the first time. Please come back to the exact spot … Never forget the Golden Age.” He spoke faster and faster, in time with the rhythm of the words, as if he was remembering it all in the moment, surprised at how much of the song was returning to him at once. He batted his forefingers, like he was conducting himself.

“Neither teachers nor dads could see the world that they brought you to was bad. This is an artifact of that. This is an artifact, artifact of that—When the terrorists spread the plague through computer screens …” “Oh, wow,” I exclaimed at the words “computer screens.” He didn’t stop. “… And they erase what was left of the West. Just a shopping mall.”

A smile crept across his face, at what might have been the closest thing to a performance of his music that he’d given to a stranger in months. “In 25 minutes. The world’s gonna crack. It’s all gonna crack. Remember this tune made you laugh. But these days a laugh’s merely an artifact.”

Rosenberg finally looked up at me. “I wasn’t saying anything prophetic,” he said. “I was stating the obvious.”