We are a curious lot. Amongst our usual human idiosyncrasies is the distinct ability to recall exactly where we were and what we were doing when some cataclysmic event occurred around us.
For example, I was sitting in my usual morning slot on a typical Friday morning not too long ago when it was forcefully impressed upon me how completely out of touch I was with the music and groups of today. I realize this may pale in comparison to the example of where you might have been when 9/11 occurred, but discovering you are out of touch can have its debilitating effects, too. I can't wait to bring this up with the therapist, if I ever get around to actually seeing one.
The news program I was watching ended with a summer concert by a band I never heard of. The foursome group of young men performed with what I consider to be the typical fake angst popular today that just drives me right off the deep end.
To be fair, I don't know them, so maybe the angst was real. The after-performance interview fairly convinced me my initial reaction was legitimate, so the angst remains fake. I remember thinking, have these people never seen a song performed by Billie Holliday, or Judy Garland, or Janice Joplin, just so they could know what real angst looks and feels like? And if you ask me who Judy Garland is, I guess it's time I just rolled up into that big ball and died. Like Sinatra. That's Life.
It brought me little comfort to also see so many young people in the crowd sing along with the band, displaying not only a complete knowledge of a song I never heard before, which let me know just out of touch I really am, but also portraying just the right degree of angst themselves at the precise moment it was required.
Sometimes, you see stuff that scares you and you don't even know why. I hate when that happens, and, the older you get, the more often it seems to happen.
Another thing I was struck by was their appearance. I come from a generation of youth that were all trying to make a statement in their manner of dress and appearance that essentially shouted from the rooftops “I'm an individual!” The irony of course was there was nothing unique about long hair, bell bottoms, tie-dyed shirts and sandals, something any of our grandparents of the day could of told us, had we been willing to listen.
There's really no difference today. Tattoos, piercings, weird hair arrangements and dark clothing don't scream to me that the person is striving to be an individual. I've become my grandfather, which is scary enough, but that only means he was right when he said the same thing about my generation that I'm saying now.
The harder some groups try to make a statement about their individuality, the more conventional they appear. If this group wanted to freak me out with their appearance, they should have tried a three-piece suit and hair slicked back with Brylcream like mine was in the ninth grade. Now that would be a statement.
Frankly, I've never understood tattooing. When I was in the navy, I once went into a tattoo shop to get a battleship tattooed on my chest. I was probably all of 140 lbs., which probably explains why the guy, after examining what he had to work with, suggested a punt might be more appropriate.
I've never looked at tattoos the same way since. And I've never understood piercing. My wife had her ears pierced when she was 24 years old, and I suggested she probably required therapy because of that decision. I've been waiting for the hammer to fall ever since then, never knowing what to expect next. So far, no dark clothing, and no fake angst. My grandfather would be so proud.
I shudder in anticipation of the next time the message that I'm completely out of touch strikes me in the face. I'll never forget the first time, now that I've shared it with you. It's really scary to discover you haven't got a clue, but you probably knew that about me prior to this. Thanks for the heads-up.
.jpg)
.jpg)
