In some ways, I can definitely tell that I’m 31 years old now.
For one thing, I’ve noticed my bottom teeth are starting to get discoloured. I’ve always had pretty decent, nice, fairly white teeth. Now, suddenly, there’s a brownish stain developing around the edges. They tell me it’s because of drinking coffee. Adult problems.
Another thing has been the introduction of All Bran into my diet in the past year. And, well… yeah. We won’t get into that one too much.
Of course, there’s the constant dread every time I wake up in the morning and have to analyze the wrinkles and creases around my eyes in the mirror. Where the hell did THEY come from?! I don’t like them.
I can’t stay up past 10 PM. Even on weekends. That desire to go out and get drunk and dance all night is long gone. I watch Saturday Night Live on Sunday mornings with a hot cup of joe, like a grown up.
But, in many other ways, I still very much feel like a kid at heart. And I’ve thought a lot about that lately as I reflect on my taste in music.
When is it that people reach the age that they stop liking “new” music? When I was a kid, my parents hated the music we listened to. When we went on Sunday drives, we were relegated to the few tapes my father would allow – Elvis Presley, Gail Gavan, Kenny Rogers, and, if he was really living on the edge, Randy Travis.
My mom & dad’s record collection (which has been dug out of a dusty basement corner recently with the purchase of a new record player for my mom) is limited to the likes of The Platters, The Everly Brothers, gospel records, Floyd Cramer, Anne Murray, and, of course, good ol’ Elvis.
If I was in the basement blasting the New Kids, or, in my teen years, the Backstreet Boys, or any number of pop, rock, country, or rap artists (ooooh how they loved my Eminem phase!), dancing around like a cool kid, I would almost always here the mighty slam of the door upstairs as the ‘rents tried to block out “all that racket”.
I don’t have kids, so I don’t really know. But if I had, say, a 7-year-old there’s a good chance my kid might like Justin Bieber. Or Katy Perry. Taylor Swift. Ariana Grande. Maroon 5. Or any number of the big hit-makers I listen to daily on my favourite radio stations. My go-to station is still Hot 89.9 (although I do bounce around quite a bit on the radio dial, depending on my mood.)
If my kid was downstairs blasting One Direction’s, “Steal My Girl”, I’m more likely to yell “TURN IT UP!!!” rather than slam the door to block it out. Because that’s my jam, yo.
I keep wondering when I’ll reach that age. That age when I start shaking my head and saying, “Man, they sure don’t make ‘em like The Tragically Hip anymore. Have these kids ever even heard of Nirvana? Do they understand the pure genius that is Bruce Springsteen? Fools, I tell you! They are all FOOLS!”
I love me some classic rock. And I thoroughly enjoy digging out old CD’s and listening to the sounds of my youth. The bands and singers that I grew up with, the ones my parents tried to shut down. I’ve even developed a deep appreciation – and yes, in some cases, love – for those “golden oldies” that my parents brought us up on.
But I also really love a lot of the current stuff too. I haven’t yet hit that stage where a song comes on, and I think, “ugh. This is terrible. WHAT is wrong with the youth of today?! Where is the oldies station?!”
I hope I never do.