Don’t Put It Off

Songs To Put You In The Mood An “If You’re Lucky” Mixtape

Don’t Put It Off

The other day a radio station I follow on Facebook posted a link to an old (2011) online discussion between two music critics called “Why do pop culture fans stop caring about new music as they get older?” I almost stopped reading after the fifth paragraph, where it is revealed that the one critic noodling over this question is all of 33 and filled with worry about losing his music cred over time. And then again when I looked at the sidebar scroll to see that there were approximately 800 paragraphs to go in the essay, analyzing whether and why people cling to the music of their youth.

I didn’t need to look at the byline to know it was two male music critics.

Has there been anything as self-important in the history of time as a bearded guy with an alphabetized music collection wearing a t-shirt by an obscure band that never found commercial success? The same snob who refuses, on disciplined principle, to bob his head even one millimeter during a One Direction song, a feat which is even more difficult than resisting gravity?

I think what got to me about the essay was the juxtaposition with another story I read the same day by the San Francisco Chronicle’s music critic, Aidin Vaziri, about the “In Memoriam” section of tonight’s Grammy award show. Of course a photo of Bowie anchored the piece, and on page two there was a list of other rockers lost in recent months: Lemmy from Motorhead, BB King, Maurice White from Earth, Wind, and Fire, Paul Kantner from Jefferson Starship…it was a long, long list.

While any of these musicians could claim fans across the spectrum of age, it’s fair to say that most of the names on it were Baby Boomer icons, or older. If a Gen X musician passes– like Scott Weiland of Stone Temple Pilots back in December, at age 48, or when Adam Yauch aka the Beastie Boys’ MCA died from cancer in 2012, at age 47 – they’re still in “that’s much too young” territory.

But even we in the Slacker Generation are hurtling toward a point in life going forward from which people the same age as us will die with regularity.

And I guess that’s what has me so annoyed with the whole belly-button gazing nature of a discussion about what constitutes good music and why every generation to follow the one we happen to find ourselves in is wrong about their definition.

You know what is good music? The kind that moves you. Maybe it’s big band, maybe it’s merpunk, maybe it’s The Smiths. What moves other people is really none of your beeswax. I cannot stand Train, truly I cannot. My job is to avoid listening to that band, not converting their fans. Life is too short for that kind of nonsense. In the words of that sage philosopher, the little girl on YouTube whose father is trying to help her with her carseat when his own seatbelt is unbuckled, “Worry about yoself!”

via GIPHYFurthermore, if you think you’ll be able to enjoy the music that moves you played live, forever, you’re nuts. I had so many chances to see the Beastie Boys play live and I never went, because it was marginally inconvenient each time. And now I never will see them in concert, and that’s a shame. Because live shows are empirically different from listening on your headphones. They’re about community, and spontaneity, and finding a huge smile plastered on your face.

So today, before the Grammys “In Memoriam” roll rolls, I implore you: go buy some tickets to see a musician you love play a show next time they’re in town, even if it’s marginally inconvenient. Or buy tickets for a band you’ve never heard of, playing at a club you drive by all the time and want to check out. Or ask someone younger or older than you what concert they’re going to next, and join them.

The worst that can happen is that you end up not liking the show.

Which is still way better than seeing the musicians’ names on the Grammys “In Memoriam” list one day and realizing that you missed your chance.