This morning I was watching the Today Show for a rare, brief moment and some rap group (do they still call them rap groups? Is that hopelessly out of date?) that I’ve never heard of is singing some song I’ve never heard of and – shockingly – there are people in the audience screaming and clapping and singing along. Every word.
And all I can think is, how is possible for them to be so familiar with these bands that I don’t know? Just like I wonder how the spoiled skanky girls on My Super Sweet 16 can get all excited about the bands their daddies book for their parties. I mean REM, sure. ACDC, totally. But Saosin? Hellogoodbye? Huh? Wha? Who?
That’s it, my musical knowledge is officially stunted.
(And this is on my mind only partly because yesterday Kristen made me watch some You Tube video to prove to me that I knew some song from the 90s about put yo hand on yo hip or some other f*cking nonsense which meant nothing to me because I’m old and farty and OKAY KRISTEN I DON’T KNOW THE SONG ALREADY.)
The first sign was about ten years ago when I saw some talentless nobody on late night TV singing some annoying song about a genie in a bottle and I thought to myself, well that’s the last time we’ll ever hear from her.
Then, about three years ago I was on a message board, when someone typed in FERGIE IS DATING JOSH DUHAMEL! and I was shocked, shocked that an American TV actor could land the Dutchess of York.
And so now it is time for me to accept and embrace my musical lameness.
Okay so I do get a little squeamish when the “oldies” station in NY that played Chubby Checker when I was a kid is now playing U2 and the Police. But otherwise, I accept that I’m pushing 40 and that my time has come to hand the cool music torch over to the younguns with the time, energy, and inclination to listen to bands new enough to cite Green Day as an influence.
And so, allow me to be the first to sign the Old Fart Musical Creed:
I accept that the world of hip music has passed me by.
I accept that I only have heard of 11 of the top 20 mp3 artists – and one of them is the Beatles.
(Even if I don’t entirely accept that the Beatles are only number 20 and that Madonna rates just above Hannah Montana)
I accept that what to me is atonal, to someone else is brilliant.
I accept that I cannot name one song by 50 Cent.
I accept that I cannot bring myself to call him “Fitty” Cent and instead say “Fifty.”
I accept that when a friend tells me she’s going to the VMAs, I’m not in the least bit envious.
I accept that even while I tap my feet to a house music mix playing at a party, I’m really hoping the next cd will be MTV Class of ’83.
I accept that mohawked college kids wearing torn Clash shirts eye me suspiciously even as I think, I rocked that look the first time around, you wannabees.
I accept that kids today scare me when they dance.
I accept that when I dance, I scare the kids today.
I accept that it’s pretty lame I when that Killers song comes on Guitar Hero III and I jump up and yell, “Hey wait, I know this!”
I accept Avril Lavigne wears too much eye makeup and there is nothing I can do about it.
If you’re with me, sign your name at the bottom, forward it to ten people, and Bill Gates will send you $10,000. It’s true. It happened to a friend of mine.