Anthony Bromberg Don’t pay attention to
a word Bromberg says, he wrote this while sleeping in line
overnight for a Raffi show. If you want to talk about forming a
nostalgia support group e-mail him at abromberg@media.ucla.edu.
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So, you’ve seen Paul McCartney all over TV playing the
hound dog for the spotlight in the media frenzy for his upcoming
tour. You’ve seen him talking about his strong connection to
America in these supposedly dire times. You’ve seen his dyed
hair. You’ve seen his face again and again.
I don’t like it. Not one bit.
Believe me, I’m as big a Beatles fan as you are. I even
think “Maybe, I’m Amazed” is a damned good song.
“Live And Let Die,” I’m down. But Jesus man,
those were over 25 years ago. Can you name any songs off of his
last two albums besides the title tracks? Well, OK, that one, but
still, that really wasn’t any good, no, it wasn’t, I
don’t care what you say, you’re so stubborn “¦ And
did anybody actually pay attention to the lyric of his lately
Oscar-nominated song, “Vanilla Sky?” Yeah, I thought it
sucked too.
So, we’re in agreement that it’s a shame that a
Beatle would age so gracelessly as a rock star. Granted, Paul was
always the lamest Beatle, but still. The bigger problem ““ and
it’s one we will all have to confront in our lifetime ““
is the idols of our youth coming back to haunt us as part of the
establishment. Sure, we’re all young now, but it can’t
last forever, and sooner than you might expect, you could find
yourself participating in a group sing-a-long of
“Plush” at a Scott Weiland’s out-of-rehab-again
nostalgia show 20 years from now.
Look, let’s be honest, it’s already happening.
Everyone’s heard of a little band called U2, and yes the Edge
is still one of the hippest men alive, but look at Bono. Yes, look
at Bono. He milks everything he can and goes around saying that U2
is applying to be the biggest band in the world again (which,
indeed should be the first surefire sign that they have long ago
ceased to be relevant). You see Bono in an interview and shrink
away at the irksome feeling he gives you by trying so hard to be
hip.
But, are there any options? I mean, who wouldn’t want to
see a former Beatle live, even if he is past his prime? And U2
still put on a great show, or at least that’s what the guy
who knows Adam Clayton’s shoe size and eye color tells
you.
Now, of course we can be optimistic and say, “We’ll
like the music of future generations, our kids, and our grandkids.
And you know what? We can respect rock stars turning into yuppies.
Hey, the world is a beautiful place.” And I’d like to
agree with you. In fact, I do agree with you 100 percent; you
couldn’t be more right.
The only problem is past evidence points to all idealistic kids
growing into nostalgic adults. The flappers couldn’t dig
Elvis, and the Beatles freaks couldn’t dig N.W.A., but hey,
our generation will be different.
But, just in case it’s not, which I’m not really
worried about because I’m sure it is, here’s a couple
of options.
Scenario A: go watch the movie “Clockstoppers” as
many times as you possibly can and discover the secret to stopping
time. Once the movie has enlightened you, you can go to your
favorite rock stars’ houses and lock them in a basement so
they never debase themselves. Or, after you have watched
“Clockstoppers” rent “Honey, I Shrunk the
Kids,” kidnap Rick Moranis and get him to shrink said rock
star for you so you can carry them around in your pocket and keep a
close eye on them while they sing their hits only for you.
Or, you could start acting old and crotchety now, and tell
everybody you meet that you hate almost all modern music and only
listen to Tin Pan Alley songs when you are near anybody else.
Eventually, you won’t care about any popular music at all and
everyone who loves you will be scared for your sanity and lock you
in the basement to attempt to cure what ails you, and in the end
you won’t be there to see any nostalgia shows.
Otherwise, prepare yourself to belong to a community of old
people that walk around in an alcohol and smoke-induced stupor and
frighten the kids without dreadlocks at rock ‘n’ roll
shows old and new.