And the radio is in the hands of such a lot of fools Tryin’ to anaesthetise the way that you feel
I have a five-minute commute to work. It keeps me sane. But it also gives me the opportunity to enjoy driving in LA traffic after 5 p.m. if I want to go across town to visit friends or go to my westside writing group. I exercise my right to honk, check out drivers, and listen to commercial radio.
My radio pre-sets are what you’d expect: NPR, Top-40, disco, rock, classic rock, and alternative/indie rock. Yesterday, I caught myself on the classic rock station screaming all the words to “Bad Company” while navigating the Rt. 5/110 merge. How did I remember the words? I never liked Bad Company in the ‘70s. I was almost through the last refrain when the voice inside my head said, “Marna, what the fuck?”
I quickly corrected my audio faux pas by switching to the rock station. There was some song being screamed by a band I didn’t know. I cocked my head and really, really tried to listen to the words. But I couldn’t understand. All I could picture was my father yelling “turn that noise down.”
I was back to indie rock in a heartbeat. But it did get me to thinking about my Dad and the music he liked – Big Band. He used to hide out in his workshop listening to Benny Goodman with his one good ear. The clarinets squealed so loud he couldn’t hear me knock when I came in. Every time I’d say to myself, “And he makes fun of my music?”
The music of my era – Depeche Mode, Peter Gabriel, Elvis Costello, Madonna – is still around and is enjoyed by a new generation of young adults. I do try to keep up with “the kids” and keep my mind open to new music. But how great can this new stuff be if I’d rather listen to 70’s classic rock I hated the first time around?
I turned off my radio for the rest of my journey and recovered with Chris Isaak’s greatest hits CD. When Led Zeppelin is on the easy listening station, I’ll know I’m almost dead. Until then, I’ll keep on trying to understand the downfall of rock.