It used to be, when I was out and about, the sound system would be playing music written before I was born. You know the kind of stuff: Queen Victoria’s Favorite Jams, Top Tunes from the Early Roman Empire, Hottest Hits from the Last Ice Age. But lately, some time last year, to be exact, I became aware of a new phenomenon: I recognized the songs I heard in public places. And, to make matters even more alarming, all the songs made me feel nostalgic—even the ones I didn’t like.
At first, I thought I might have accidentally stumbled into an alternate universe. But I checked around, and my credit card balances were still exactly as high as ever, while my bank account balance was just as low—so that ruled that possibility out. So if quantum mechanics, string theory, and the fourth dimension couldn’t explain this strange occurrence, then what could?
Well, I spent a few weeks pondering this conundrum. Finally, it hit me: I am middle-aged.
Having nothing better to do—I am middle aged, after all—I spent some time thinking deeply about this musical phenomenon. What’s the logic behind it?
Here’s my best guess. The marketing experts all got together for a beer, and wondered how they could sell more useless trinkets. And they thought something like this: all the young people who listen to trendy music are completely broke. They’ve spent all their money on tattoos, body piercing, and electronic devices so small that the devices have fallen through holes in their pockets and never been found. And all the old people are too decrepit to go anywhere and spend money. plus their grandchildren have hacked into their bank accounts to pay for their tattoos and electric scooters.
So that leaves me.
Of course, the marketing experts are completely wrong. I’d much prefer to listen to Beethoven, and I don’t have any money anyway. But you have to admire the attempt.
“Boppers grona lund 2004.” (The Boppers in concert with Jerry Williams at Gröna Lund, Stockholm 2004.) CC BY-SA 2.5 via Wikimedia Commons.
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