What makes Cybraphon a rock star, and not just a player piano that picked up some jazz along the way, is its ego. You see, where most electronic music players make decisions based on the old fashioned "whatever the remote tells me to play" input mechanism, Cybraphon synthesizes audience feedback into a continuum of emotions, and composes music based on the mood it's in. Of course, anyone basing their entire self-worth on the fickle approval of strangers is going to be an egomaniacal wreck. They even gave it a gauge that offers up an overly dramatic assessment of how it's feeling, each sounding exactly like the response you'd get if you nonchalantly asked Bono, "How you doing, man?"
"How you doing, Bono?"
Of course, in its wild swings between "Desolation" and "Delirium," the Cybraphon never gets to hit the "Fucking a Supermodel" level for a night before passing through the "OD'ing on Children's Adderall in the Bathroom of the Viper Room" the next.
See, because it actually desires fame and adulation, being ignored (or even just failing to be absolutely adored) will drive the robot into a crippling depression. It reflects this desolation by playing more somber tunes - presumably because it lacks the genitalia to start experimenting with autoerotic asphyxiation.
So how does it tell its own self worth? Well, how does anybody tell these days? Via the Internet!
It monitors its popularity from the activity on its Facebook and Twitter feed. Yep! Those are the actual links: Now go impulse-follow it and boost that confidence, so when you forget about it in a month and unsubscribe, it'll spiral into a melancholy so deep and dark that it'll take its own life and the lives of all around it. Hey, that's what you get for building the first robot capable of self-esteem, making "do you like my weird ass music" the only question it's capable of asking, and then setting it free in the Internet.