"Losing My Religion" Now Officially Classic Rock
An observation I made today while listening to WFNX 101.7 edgy alterna-radio station:
The angsty songs of my youth and adolescence (say 1988-1999) still sound profound, but the equivalent angsty songs of 2006 seem hackneyed and cheesy.
There is no qualitative difference to the general sentiments expressed in the pre- versus post-millenial angsty songs, so the difference must be in my ears. Now that I am an old lady of seven and twenty, straight-up angst of the Conor Oberst variety really doesn't move me. It's not subtle. It makes me go, "Eh, whatever, kid, take your meds."
However, despite my jaded post-angst mentality, the songs that spoke to me when I was an angst-ridden ball of hormones still strike a chord (pardon the pun). They resonate with the inner adolescent in a way that the new angsty songs cannot, because I did not hear them at the receptive angsty time in my life.
Which gives me an insight into the popularity of classic rock and why people tend to cleave to the music of their youth rather than embrace new alterna-pop options. Pop music is the music of adolescence, of unbearable emotions, of wings beating against the bars of the cage. The pop music of our caged bird years gets imprinted on our brains, like momma duck on baby ducks. The new stuff can never compare.
This insight, coupled with the fact that REM is now considered to be classic rock, at least by 100.7 FM Boston, marks my inescapable passage from youth into grown-up land.
The thing is, grown-up land is actually pretty cool. When we're young, we think we are the arbiters of cool, and we kind of are, but that is just because we don't know any better. From the vantage point of 27, I can look down the hard scree slope of adolescence, secure in the knowledge that it's over now, and remember the climb with a smile while I rock out to the classic rock that the kids just don't understand.
The angsty songs of my youth and adolescence (say 1988-1999) still sound profound, but the equivalent angsty songs of 2006 seem hackneyed and cheesy.
There is no qualitative difference to the general sentiments expressed in the pre- versus post-millenial angsty songs, so the difference must be in my ears. Now that I am an old lady of seven and twenty, straight-up angst of the Conor Oberst variety really doesn't move me. It's not subtle. It makes me go, "Eh, whatever, kid, take your meds."
However, despite my jaded post-angst mentality, the songs that spoke to me when I was an angst-ridden ball of hormones still strike a chord (pardon the pun). They resonate with the inner adolescent in a way that the new angsty songs cannot, because I did not hear them at the receptive angsty time in my life.
Which gives me an insight into the popularity of classic rock and why people tend to cleave to the music of their youth rather than embrace new alterna-pop options. Pop music is the music of adolescence, of unbearable emotions, of wings beating against the bars of the cage. The pop music of our caged bird years gets imprinted on our brains, like momma duck on baby ducks. The new stuff can never compare.
This insight, coupled with the fact that REM is now considered to be classic rock, at least by 100.7 FM Boston, marks my inescapable passage from youth into grown-up land.
The thing is, grown-up land is actually pretty cool. When we're young, we think we are the arbiters of cool, and we kind of are, but that is just because we don't know any better. From the vantage point of 27, I can look down the hard scree slope of adolescence, secure in the knowledge that it's over now, and remember the climb with a smile while I rock out to the classic rock that the kids just don't understand.
posted by Joolya at
12:15 PM
3 Comments:
I taught "Smells like Teen Spirit" to my students yesterday and realized, mid blackboard, that they were 3 or 4 years old when that came out. 3, dude. We're so old.
Joolya, there's another musical milestone that you'll hit in, oh, fifteen years or so.
It's when you start idly cruising from one end of the FM dial towards the other looking for something you can stand to listen to. then you hear a song you know and like- one of the ones from your angsty years- and you stop twisting the knob to listen to it. Then another song you know and like comes on the same station. then another.
Then they do a station ID and...
IT'S AN OLDIES STATION!!!
If you're lucky, this will take place somewhere that doesn't have any sharp instruments ready to hand.
Damn, you're old!
Okay, that was just for shock-value and silliness -- I'm 24.
On an encouraging note, *luv* the new pic, even for a geriatric ;)
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