What a depressing year. Not for music, music was fine. Music was normal. It was great! Music is great always. I hope I never become one of those old guys who sits around complaining that music was better when he was a kid. Music has always been equal parts shitty and amazing. And even the amazing stuff is kinda shitty, because it’s all a bunch of 20-year-olds singing songs for 15-year-olds. If you’re 40 like me you have no business listening to music. I should be listening to pigeons quacking at the park as I throw bread at them. Pigeon quacking should be all the music I’m allowed to have an opinion on at my advanced age.
No, this was not a depressing year for music, but for my relationship to it. This was the first year in my life that the constraints of dadhood and career and the burdens of feigning an air of responsibility impeded my ability to consume and care about music. Since the arrival of Elijah, my opportunities for enjoying music have diminished greatly. At home, music just adds to the chaos. In the car, Hazel’s a total radio Nazi so we’ve been listening nonstop to the only thing we can agree on which is the Beatles. The 1 album, specifically, that collects all of their #1 hits and doesn’t have most of my favorite Beatles songs. But it’s fine, I would much rather be listening to any Beatles than that garbage cd of bathtime songs she borrowed from her cousin.