No Elvis, Beatles, or The Rolling Stones...

"Everything you are and do from fifteen to eighteen is what you are
and will do for the rest of your life."
F. SCOTT FITZGERALD,
letter to his daughter, September 19, 1938

At a family function this past weekend, I made a snarky comment about my little sister's oh-so-twee indie bands, with "all their chimes and handclaps and stuff," to which my other more mature than myself sibling countered with "well you like all that weird world music" and thankfully dessert in the form of cherry pie arrived to end all sonic disputes.

We all prefer the sounds of our adolescence, though the prior generations have done a great job of monopolizing the canon, as if there wasn't good music made before 1965 and as if the world stopped ten years later.



It's not that I really hate Freedom Rock all that much, but the entitled mentality of certain members of that generation and infinite PBS fundraisers with washed up 60's burnouts doing The Songs That We Got High To and the assumption that well duh there hasn't been anything good since the Beatles and Bob Dylan and maybe I just don't understand the hagiography of the agnostics in my midst because when I think of St. John I don't think of Lennon and his primal screamer of a soulmate.

While I do love the first couple Police albums, this song exemplifies everything wrong with my Boomer Overlords. Ian Mackaye once sang that we're not the first and we know we're not the last, and that's a good kind of humbleness to have to realize that. Sting on the other hand, well...



This might be particularly sensitive to some of us peons, due to a time warp vortex especially strong in Parmastan, where classic rock never died, those who consider themselves more hip will maybe prefer the Velvet Underground or Elvis Costello but little beyond that or their influences, crackers still wash their Camaros while listening to "Every Rose Has Its Thorn" on the boombox, and every other classmate of mine in high school that wasn't into the Wu-Tang Clan seemed to own an AC/DC t-shirt. Something about those post-war bungalows and bowling alleys where time hasn't changed much. As inner-ring suburb Cleveland kids, a love of some kind of classic rock is almost a birthright even if some of us prefer more fuzz and weirdness.



I don't understand the appeal of Of Montreal or Throw Me the Statue or whatever the Urban Outfitters/American Apparel set are listening to these days, but I don't have to. I've still got power chords, black t-shirts, and my dad's flannels to fall back on.

west to east and east to west.

Took some vacation time today. Me and roommate had grand road trip plans for Columbus or Kent and ended up exploring more of our city with much success, making the jump from the old familiar parts of Parma to the heart of the east side.

We stopped at Timeless Guitars and while I'd still love an upright bass, I played a beautiful vintage short-scale bass with great sound and style that would make more sense right now and she found some banjos down in the basement that she liked. Hung out in Parma for a little bit to visit my sister and get some groceries and then drove out to Euclid to pick up free moving boxes we saw on Craigslist.

By this time we were hungry and craving something spicy so we called Muk to see where he likes getting Jamaican so he sent us to DK & A down on 120th & St Clair. It's easy to miss but the food is amazing and there's a lot of it. And despite the catcalls from the passing drivers, I'd go back there again if I'm out that way. The spices were comforting and made me think of warmer sunny days.

We met up with him at the food co-op parking lot and ate curry chicken and drank fruity organic stuff in the car as the windows fogged up, and then went out to some party in Mayfield. While I'm so intimidated by groups of new people, I ended up having a nice time and I'm thankful that the frustrations of past experiences don't always need to repeat in the present.

And even though it's started snowing, we're back home and it's warm.