Those Damn Kids and ... Our ... Music

i simply have to work faster.
 
Glenn Reynolds just pointed out that "Chattanooga Choo-Choo" was as old in 1969 as Pink Floyd's "The Wall" is today.
 
Yet, radio stations still play "The Wall."
 
I had started making notes on a similar observation at the neighborhood pool last week, on the Fourth. The teenage lifeguards had a boombox going, which they were free to operate until the hired deejay arrived. Lynyrd Skynyrd, Van Halen, and other 1970s "classic rock" poured out of the speakers. I mentioned to Squeeky that this would be like us playing Bill Haley and the Comets at our high-school parties, a thought that never would have occurred to us. In fact, back then we turned on the Skynyrd-Halen axis, too.
 
"Maybe it's because they know today's music is trash."
 
And that stopped me. One of the symptoms of Old Farthood I'm trying to avoid is the tendency to dismiss whatever the teenagers like as garbage. That's what the stereotypical parent-type did 25 years ago, and we rolled our eyes at them.
 
But, really. Most of today's music is garbage, although some of it is not. The gangsta rap I'm sick of because it's unoriginal. I'll also pass on Britney and her clones because even the catchy tunes have none of the subtleties that make a song enjoyable after the first few listenings.

i did like what i heard on the radio in 2004, when I spent almost every night for a week in the garage rebuilding Scooter's engine. I tuned in to a station that catered to teens, hoping the upbeatness would keep me going—unlike NPR, which either delights, angers, or bores. (Two of those are bad for precision labor.)

In that week, I learned that if it's hot in here, we should take our clothes off; it just takes some time, little bit a little bit; the real world is a lie you can rise above; and I'm a hazard to myself. Largely the same sentiments I felt as a lonesome teen, and I got the same guilty pleasure listening to it this time around. It's the music that doesn't ask more of you than a little resonance, that's all.

But no teenager plays this stuff in public, where others might hear. The sentiments—I'm a failure, I just need to be silly, I want her but she doesn't want me—are too embarrassing.  No one wants to be seen identifying with it. It's what you play when no one else is in the car.
 
So I was heartened by my garage music experience; all is not lost, culturally speaking. I just haven't heard anything else on the radio lately that was worth anything. (Maybe that's why there's so much illegal file-sharing. Who wants to pay for that junk?)
 
Musical-culturally speaking, we've hit a cul-de-sac, with the last "new" thrown in being gangsta rap, and all anyone can think to do with that is to go evermore vulgar and louder. And I think they've hit bottom. Is there anything too rude to say now? Is anything shocking, or worth getting riled about? Nope. Jabber on about murdering your girlfriend in a particularly misogynistic manner, then slaughtering the cops who come after you, and nobody bats an eye. It's all been sung before. You can even "freak" to it.

perhaps that's why it appears more kids are listening to the same music their parents enjoyed at their age. I'm not sure how to handle that. Frankly, I'd be uncomfortable if a youngster I knew expressed a sincere interest in my dated music, or worse, my books, movies, and drinking habits. I've heard there's been a revival of '80s music in the dance clubs, and that makes sense because that's when the best dance music was made. They fill the floor for Spandau Ballet's "Gold," and they all raise their hands when Tony Hadley soars into "You could leave me standing so taaaaaallll." All I can think of when I hear that is, that was my music! And I wonder if the clubs are as much fun now as Angles nightclub was in Austin circa 1984.
 
I hope so. The exuberance with which we took to the floor, even with complete strangers, is something I longed for even after I'd passed the acceptable age. And that's where I start to feel like the teens listening to the personal, embarrassing stuff. I'm not sure I want to share it with anyone. And from a social standpoint, I don't want to be identified with the next generation.
 
The only thing worse than a reactionary is an older person trying to act young. He embarrasses himself and those he's trying to imitate; nobody wins. Perhaps I fear that more than I should. Maybe there really shouldn't be this great divide between the children of the '60s and the children of the '90s in what they like to hear. Maybe the idea of generational strife is one of those 1960s falsehoods our media have promulgated and echoed for all this time, and it's time to shake it off.
 
In that light, I couldn't be happier to know that my nieces and nephews—and (gulp) their children—have a healthy curiosity about my CD collection. I'll even burn copies for 'em, evil uncle that I am.
 
Maybe then they won't fight over that part of my estate.

Right now I'm listening to Roxy Music, written-performed-recorded by the same team. The detail in these songs astounds me: How did they know to place that particular synth note right there? It's good copy-editing music, because it sharpens my senses. Makes me wonder why Bryan Ferry's never done a soundtrack. I hate that his songs end, because I want to them to keep going.  Who else can you say that about?

And, whaddya know, Kool & The Gang is back.

Posted by: Michael Rittenhouse at 07:59 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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