I guess that means I’m getting to be about that age.
It won’t be long before I’m kicking back on the front porch of the retirement community, sitting in my rocking chair and listening to The Wallflowers (right) on my Discman.
Oh, right. You young whippersnappers have never heard of one of those. Forgive me. We old-timers do prattle on.
A Discman plays compact discs. We called ’em CDs back in the day. They were the popular format for music at the time. It was kinda like an iPod, but it only played one record at a time.
Before cell phones that could fit in your pocket and this new-fangled Internet thing, I remember seeing an advertisement for Nirvana’s In Utero in a magazine. I walked uphill in the snow both ways to a record store to get a copy of that CD.
What did you just ask me? Who the heck is Nirvana? What’s a record store?
Holy dated references, Batman. What do they teach you kids these days?
All right, all right. Maybe I’m being a little melodramatic. But recently, I’ve been reminded that I’m nearer to being over the hill than I am someone who grew up watching “The Hills.”
At The Decemberists’ concert in Oakland last week, my conversation with two UC Santa Cruz freshmen turned into “ask the old dude about all the cool concerts he’s seen.” Particularly dating was the realization one’s older sister introduced him to The Strokes while in elementary school, yet I was rocking out to “Last Nite” as a college sophomore way back in Aught One.
Last month, when I jumped in the way-back machine and spouted that I hadn’t really enjoyed Vince Vaughn’s work since “Swingers,” a Travis Air Force Base airman quipped, “You’re showing your age, Nick.”
Reading the first line of Rolling Stone’s review of the new Bright Eyes album, which notes the passage of time since the band’s breakthrough record, I stood, wheeled and said to Daily Republic writer Sarah de Crescenzo, “Bright Eyes’ Lifted is almost 10 years old? Wow. I’m old.”
Though there’s not much I can do about it, feeling your expiration date for being young, cool and hip breeds a strange insecurity about not having one’s finger on the pulse.
For example, upon first listen, I worried when my brain wasn’t turned into a sweet, sugary goo by the genius of James Blake’s new self-titled debut album (right). It cribs from the dubstep and ambient pop genres and has received rave reviews.
Was it possible that I couldn’t hear its greatness because gasp I’m too old? Holy ancient, overused phrase, Batman.
It's an unfortunate reality of life. If you're 20 years old and you can't hear it, you just don't like it. If you're 30 and you don't think something's cool, it's cos your advanced years have prevented you from hearing its hipness.
Thankfully, I can wipe my brow as far as James Blake goes. I gave it a few more spins and it revealed its goodness. My brain is now sufficiently goo-ified.
In the bigger picture, age has long had a precarious, teetertotter relationship with music.
It can be harsh on the young as well as the old. One famous pop song begins, “They say we’re young and we don’t know, won’t find out until we grow. Well, I don’t know if all that’s true, but you got me and, baby, I got you.”
Just 10 years after singing those lines, Sonny and Cher were divorced.
The meaning of one of rock ’n’ roll’s seemingly grimmest statements goes from macabre to strangely hopeful depending upon how you tilt the magnifying glass. The longer Pete Townshend and Roger Daltrey live, “I hope I die before I get old” becomes a prayer not to lose touch rather than a stark, youthful death wish.
What can I say, kids? I like that old-time a-rock ’n’ roll.
There are more examples than I can cram into the space they give me for this column.
Come to think of it, I started writing pop culture columns nearly 10 years ago because I was young and hip.
One day, I'll have to settle for just “hip.”
For now, though, as long as I’ve listened to James Blake, know there’s a new Bright Eyes record and can say that, hey, now that I think about it, Vince Vaughn was pretty good in “Into the Wild,” too, maybe my bingo-playing days are far in the future.
Maybe it’s true what people say: Age is just a number.
What do you mean, “Nick, only old people say that?”
James Blake, "Limit to Your Love"