Well, they say your musical tastes are pretty much chiseled in stone by the age of 16, so no big surprise that I only knew the names of 27 of Rolling Stone's 100 Best Albums of the 90's, the decade when I left my 30’s – still kicking – and entered my 40’s, more or less screaming, I guess.
I mean, I probably recognize 80 or so of the artists by name, but the actual album names? A paltry 27. And that’s based on, you know, name recognition on the radio (possibly before I changed the station) or browsing for CD’s in the record store.
Remember CD’s? In stores?
27. Recognized. By name. Ownership? Well, less than that. A lot less. And I bought a ton of CD’s in the 90’s. A boatload.
Look: I wasn’t entirely out of it. I had some Nirvana, Petty, Oasis, Neil Young, REM, U2 and Red Hot Chili Peppers. That’s not so bad, right? And, you know, I kinda liked Pearl Jam and Soundgarden and Radiohead and Metallica. That’s good, isn’t it?
And of course I love Dylan and Springsteen and The Stones, and they’re on the list (although come one, RS, Bridges To Babylon and not Voodoo Lounge? Really?) – so, I was, like, not in a cave or anything.
But 27% sort of makes it official: I had given up. I had grown old. My score on the Top 10 (60%) is cold comfort. Crap.
I always knew that rock/pop is for young people, but retreating to “well the music was better in the 60’s (or 70’s (for the most part), or the 80’s (at least for a time)) – even though it was – is, is, is oh nevermind.
No point in raging against the machine. I’m not ready to die and I know I’m not out of time. OK Computer, how we gonna handle this?