OK, up front: I’m about to turn 34. Yeah, some of my hair is starting to fall out, and there are some flecks of grey appearing, but I’m not that old. I like all different kinds of music, and I’ve tried to resist turning into a curmudgeonly agist music grump…“Christ! The shit these kids listen to today! You call that music?”
But that’s exacly what is happening.
Maybe it’s just one of those things that happens with age, like liver spots, but unlike other proven and well-characterized consequences of gerontological decline, I can find no well-supported evidence that growing intolerance to youthful music is some inevitable consequence of decrepitude. I know my dad thought the Dead Kennedys were Satan’s spawn, that the Police were fronted by a man named “Stink”, that the Replacements were just drunken idiots, but…well, he was just wrong.
When I conclude that Christine Aguillera is a talentless producer-driven strip-tease dancer who happens to be able to sing on pitch (the majority of the time), I have a hard time believing I could be wrong the way my dad was about Bad Brains. Trying to enjoy today’s pop divas makes me feel like a sex pervert, and besides, they all sound the same, dammit.
Y’see, the thing is, even though my dad hated my music, I really kinda liked his. Looking backwards from 80s punk and new wave, I had no problem with Neil Diamond. Hey, John Denver was kinda corny, but he could write a damn good tune. The Eagles? I frickin’ LOVE the Eagles. I taught myself to play on an acustic guitar, picking up beatles tunes by ear. Sure, I loved Joe Strummer, but damned if I didn’t think Jimmy Hendrix was the NUTS and then some. If I had a piano around growing up I would have learned some Carol King tunes too. I loved these things unabashedly. My dad used to yell at me to stop scratching up his records, and he couldn’t understand my interest to begin with.
And I like old country. I’m nuts about old Charlie Daniels, Waylon Jennings, stuff like that. And good old R&B, funk, disco even. I mean, “I’ll Be Around” by the Spinners almost makes me cry to this day. I’ll shake my white ass to Kool and the Gang any time.
But looking forward…[shudder]. I mean, are the Strokes and the White Stripes supposed to save us from musical armageddon? I just don’t see it. Is pap like Avril Lavigne really what American youth culture is now all about? Sure, my generation had its Tiffanies and Go-gos (who actually weren’t total crap, in retrospect), but, if my memory serves me, they had to jostle for the limelight with some decidedly more stirring musical talent on the airwaves. What legacy could today’s teenie-boppers possibly leave behind? I mean, will anybody give two craps about Brittney once her boobs start to sag more than a centimeter? Could she ever hold her own into her 40s like a Chrissie Hynde, or even her 50s, like a Lucinda Williams? I think fucking not.
Is pop music really in trouble now? I mean really headed for the toilet…not like a “Turn that rock&roll racket off you little deviants, and get offa my lawn!” kinda problem, but a “talent is no longer rewarded, music is now an assembly line product to be spewed at us by an endless stream of air-headed, silicone-enhanced 19-year-olds, and pop is now dead” kinda problem.
I’m serious. I’m starting to hate pop. Is it just me? Am I just slipping into old fartitude and don’t know any better, or is the only redeemable future really gang-banging hip-hoppers and their pervasive sociopathy? Shit, my punk heros were angry and violent, but they had a serious ironic streak ('cept maybe Johnny Rotten once he decided he was a musician). These gangsta rappers actually kill one another. It’s not about musical catharsis anymore. That’s a scary kinda future if you ask me. But the only one that aspires to any kind of creativity. Man, is rock really dead and gone, and is positive pop nothing but plactic?