There was a time before I became the sort of person who cares about music beyond simply liking what was on the radio. That would be pretty much every year of my life before age 14. This would, as you might guess, be a time when I listened to a lot of music that I can't believe I ever could have liked. Limp Bizkit songs were headbanged to. Kid Rock CDs were actually purchased, and Scott Stapp lyrics were related to. Oh, you better believe they were related to.
But, like many people, my tastes eventually broadened. At first, it was just little things, like buying The White Stripes Elephant because I heard it was really good - this was the first I actually cared about critical opinion of anything. But it grew and grew, and I became the kind of person who lived to discover obscure bands, and be filled with smug pride that almost no one else in my high school had heard of them. While I'd love to think of myself as a music snob of the highest order, a lot of the crap I listened to in the late 90s and early 2000s has stuck with me, whether I want to admit it or not.
I started think about this after a late night trip to Wegmans. I was, as usual, getting some pizza rolls, and as I wandered along to the frozen section, I noticed "Kryptonite" by Three Doors Down was playing on their satellite radio. Now, this the kind of song and the kind of band, that is mocked for obvious reasons. And while one part of my brain could easily think "oh yeah - crappy song, crappy band," I was betrayed by the other side of my brain, and could feel myself starting to hum along. The thing is, I was 10 years old when the song came out. I liked it. I didn't know any better. And I have a sneaking suspicion that if you like a song once, you kind of always like it.
Well, that's not completely true. You'll hate it for awhile. When I was 14-16, I made a point of hating every song I had hated from ages 9 to 13. There was almost an art in it - like I was so proud of having found something better than I would smirk with glee every time I song by, say, Bush would come on, because I had graduated from all that.
But then, when age 19 rolled around, I found myself with an odd nostalgia for some of the songs I had spent the last five years so gleefully rejecting. All the pop-punk bands that the girls in 8th and 9th grade were obsessed with didn't sound quite as odious as I had once thought. But more importantly, I found myself getting that awkward guilty pleasure out of the songs that I had accepted as the Worst Music In The World. And I think the reason for it is, because, well, I had liked it before. I think everyone is like that with a certain era of music. I mean, when Hinder came out with "Lips Of An Angel" in 2006, I already knew that was crap, and thus, I have no nostalgic feelings for it. But think of the folks born in 1996. They were only 10, they didn't know any better! Oh sure, they've discovered better things by now, but think when 2018 rolls around. They'll making a late night run to the store, they'll here Austin Winkler's constipated vocal ("honey why you callin me so late/it's kinda hard to talk right now...") and their first thought be "oh this shitty song again..." but the part of their brain that remembers liking it as a naive 5th grader will betray them. When you like a song, you always kind of like it. Even if hate its guts in principle, it sticks with you.
Good read. Be proud of you musical history!
Thought you might be interested in checking out another really good blog post that covers the same subject pretty thoroughly, and delves into music in education and how they train you to feel crappy about your musical heritage- and how you should avoid that feeling.
" How can an individual who was once so powerfully drawn to the mystical, indescribable powers of music and the seemingly endless trove of delights and inspirations that awaited around every fret, every key, every drum, every note become so calcified and mechanical, reducing every musical note down to nothing more than its physical difficulty, or lack thereof, thereby heinously morphing the interpretations of music and its impact into mere sport, hands and feet, muscles and tendons, nerves and blood?
The absurdity within this philosophy is palpable and obvious, as I can say with hard won personal and professional experience, as can many of my peers and colleagues, that the expressions “better”, “harder”, “easy”, “real”, and others simply do not exist and have no application in the world of music. I have had an equally, and sometimes less difficult time practicing and performing a classical concerto then I have had with a three chord pop song.
Why? Because difficulty is relative and situational, not absolute.
Why? Because music is not a sport."
"An individual’s musical history is just that. It is the matrix of what has built the person as a creator and artist, the denial of which is akin to shunning the existence of a sister, a mother, a grandfather, an aunt, an entire family. When considering the life bearing and affirming power of the arts and music, I ask you to consider for a moment what differences exist between a mother, the woman who nurtures a physical life through its seemingly endless plethora of challenges and strife, and the artists, music, songs, sounds and ideas that nurture the growth of a creative life from the point of primary vulnerability onward?
Is there a difference? I submit to you that there is not."
http://principlesofmusic.tumblr.com/post/64869465348/foundations
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shit. strike that. r****