Saturday night found me sitting in the kitchen of 186 listening to records with Kyle and Dan as we wasted our evening playing cards and sipping PBR. The playlist started with the reissue of London Calling by The Clash (big ups to D. for hooking it) followed by some of The Modern Lovers self-titled record. The grand finally was a complete run through of The Beatles Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band which begins with one hell of a face melting riff. There is a point to this, so bear with me. As time ticked by and the working week crept ever closer, I realized the records that have been flooding my apartment aren’t anything special. Maybe more attention should be paid to the past greats rather than the future forgot me nots.
Fast forward 24 hours.
Sunday was a waste land. There was no way to prevent it. After a few big nights, my body wasn’t capable of its normal Sunday routine consisting of more football and PBR than most can stomach. After a wretched brunch, a less than productive meeting and various vices, I found myself stuck in the living room putting more of my catalog onto The Future. This brings my current inner dilemma. As I entered my dirty garage psyche portion of my collection onto The Future, I began to question how those records made it into my collection. The Soledad Brothers, The Go, The Warlocks, Dead Meadow and so on. These were part of a recent infatuation with a sound laced with fuzz and massive feedback. I tried to ask myself where this new obsession stemmed from. This invited me to dive deeper into the annexed portion of my discs.
(Un)Fortunately this confused me even more. As I ritualistically added all five of my Blink 182 records to The Future, a puzzling feeling crept over me. Surely these records had overstayed their welcome in my musical taste bank and for that matter, who the fuck owns five Blink 182 records? As a 23 year old young adult, there was a little man inside me trying to convince me that energetic pop punk of this SoCal trio couldn’t satisfy a bone in my body. Furthermore, am I not at the age where pee pee and poo poo jokes have lost their humorous luster? Despite these apprehensions I imported my high school favorites (and one 2001 purchase) onto the hard drive in hopes of putting them to rest in the vault of forgotten wet dreams and bedroom mosh pit simulations.
You better sleep on it.
On my walk into the office this morning, the Ipod shuffled through those five Blink 182 albums while I attempted to disband with my formidable tastes. After 5 or 6 songs (all of which I sung along to), I realized that these bands that most indie rock kids would think are shit, still have a special place in my heart. Their high energy, playful tunes will always have the ability to make me style. Is it nostalgia that prevents me from seeing the music snob light? Am I incapable of deciding what genre I should be filed under? To tell you the truth it doesn’t matter. These visits into my uncharacteristically wide spectrum of the musically beloved had an unnerving affect on me. Like most things in life, I can’t make a decision. I’m not the flip-flopper, but there is something strange in the fact that my tastes have yet to specialize.
Though my love for Blink 182 and there pop punk brethren (if you ask, I may tell) could never parallel my fondness for a certain teenage band, I now realize that my feelings for them will never fully dissipate. As my friends and acquaintances continue to subject me to a wealth of artists I may have missed, I’ve grown comfortable in the notion that if you feed me something it’s a safe bet your suggestion will get gobbled up.
That’s not to say I like everything.
2 Comments:
i agree totally about blink 182. i have to say i really like them alot. still, they are a joke. scat
scat. agreed. i know there isn't much there musically and they don't break any sort of levels in terms of themes and emotion, but they are fucking great.
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