Paul Lorentz

I had a disturbing realization last month. Disturbing, at least, from the point of view of a guy whose entire adolescent self-identity was wrapped up in the idea that he was ahead of the curve in all things pop music, that he could tell you with metronomic precision the Top 10 songs on the Billboard Hot 100 at any given moment (at a time when the Top 10 actually changed from week to week – and not just due to the latest event single). At the end of the summer, I’m looking back on the music I’ve purchased and listened to this year, and I’m finding that a disproportionate number of my favorite records of 2008 are by old farts.

Now, I realize that as most people settle into their adulthoods and are faced with the imminent onset of middle age – dear god, I can already smell the despair-laced liquor and cigarette smoke at the hall of my 20 year high school reunion – with growing debt loads, and growing children with growing attitude problems, it’s perfectly natural for a guy to reassess his priorities away from discovering the hottest new pop thing. No offense, Katy Perry, but it’s perfectly natural, and even admirable, for a guy like me to spend his Sunday night watching an inspirational Disney movie on DVD with his kids and dogs rather than sequestering himself in his basement tracking the hit parade according to Seacrest. And as we settle into our cosy adulthoods, it’s perfectly natural to fall back on the favorites and golden oldies (like “Rock the Casbah”!) we grew up with.

 

 

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