Posted on December 30, 2005
You want to feel judged? Evaluated? Sifted and weighed?
Placed in a box?
Then let your 14-year old daughter, who has recently taken a fancy to vinyl records and record players sort through your collection of music from Back in the Day.
Your complete collection of the Beatles albums brings with it a kind of grudging admiration. Eyebrows are raised at the sight of your Bob Marley collection, too. Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young confer credibility upon you as well. You momentarily bond over Fleetwood Mac. Your chest swells a bit at this unlikely bit of appreciation. But nothing lasts forever, alas:
Not withstanding the worlds coolest album covers, the sight of the Molly Hatchet collection does nothing for your standing, and your stock starts to plummet as she breezes quickly past the Charlie Daniels Band albums you bought when, for 35 seconds, southern country and rock successfully fused – in your mind anyway – into southern rock. You can only shrug as with a quizical look, seeking some explanation, she pulls out the soundtrack for Urban Cowboy. You try to explain that “Dust in the Wind” by Kansas seemed to really have some sort of deeper meaning that was just out of reach back in the late ’70s, but she’s clearly not sold. By the time she gets to a seemingly endless series of Genesis/Phil Collins platters you just sit there in the corner softly weeping, hoping that the humiliation will soon end.
Sic transit gloria.