I went to a Wilco concert the other night. It was great. They’re one of the last of my favorite bands that I can cross off my checklist for having finally seen live (Blur and Led Zepelin are the two most prominent possible members still active on said list). As I could see the wear and tear on singer, Jeff Tweedy’s face as he belted out his twangy, poetry about heavy metal drummers and impossible Germanys it got me thinking about my taste in music. Why have I yet to become a fan of a musician who is younger than me?
I’m 33. Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, and Kurt Cobain all died when they were six years younger than me. Where are their counterparts? Why do I continue to only listen to the voices of my elders?
Maybe it’s a jealousy thing where I’m thinking I should be on that stage instead of them. But I’ve been comfortable rooting for young bucks in the arena of sports where my adulation for Glen Rice and Dan Marino continued toward those born after 1978 like LeBron James and Dwyane Wade.
But my fandom for post 1978 musicians is extremely limited. I got into the Strokes a bit and they’re a couple years younger than me. MGMT at the very least looked young. I also played a lot of the Dodos album and they’re just out of puberty. But I don’t have that, “got to hear it, need to hear it now” sensation for any of these whippersnappers.
Maybe music only really hits you when you’re a teenager and I’ll be listening to the good time oldies station playing The Beastie Boys and Modest Mouse and heading to the race track to pay ten bucks to see an eighty year old Frank Black playing his hits.