Way To Be Happy No. 16: Remember You're Part of Something
A college friend alerted me over the weekend that KLOS was having a "legends of LA rock radio weekend," or something of the sort, with a bunch of the old DJs from long-gone KMET sitting in. If they were on when I was listening, their voices must have changed. But the old songs took me back.
I don't mean I was lost in a reverie of nostalgia, because that particular substance scarcely exists in me today, at least in its usual form. Nostalgia is just an illusion, a psychological litmus test that helps us understand what's missing in our lives. But it's an objective fact that I belong to a generation that is defined, in some irreducible part, by the opening chords of "Smoke On The Water" by Deep Purple. I didn't have to read this in a book, or on Twitter, or see Dazed and Confused, to know this. I didn't even have to like the song. And it was good to be reminded of this, and to briefly be drawn into an e-mail chain of people who all know this without having to say it. (Somehow I pictured us all as Jim Anchower, forgetting for the moment that we're closer to Don Draper these days.)
A few months ago I saw a crazy middle-aged man stumbling down the street, howling some song we all heard on the radio too many times when we were young. It was just stuck in this man's head in a more profound and damaging way than it was in my own. This irritated me, and I thought to myself that when today's young generation gets to be my age, they won't have this problem. The middle-aged homeless man of 2035 will be singing a song that maybe 2 percent of his contemporaries will recognize, because they all grew up listening to different music on their own individual iPods. The large-scale broadcast technology of my youth shaped me in some ways that feel like Cylon programming, as when I respond to the siren call of the oldies playlist in a Lucky Jeans store. But there are times when it comforts, too. We all need to belong to something other than our gated communities or, in fact, the cultural affinity groups we may consider so chic. Personally, I listen mostly to Taiwanese rock and pop these days, because it's the new thing in my life and it's fun to get to know more artists and fans in this area. (And, incidentally, because it reminds me of Seventies music.) But it's good to know that "Smoke On The Water" belongs to me, and I belong to "Smoke On The Water."
All of which reminds me that tonight on KLOS, the legendary KMET comedy DJ Dr. Demento was going to do a full hour of his old records. That'd be over by now, and I missed it. Just as well. A Sunday night of that would have sent me over the edge.
I don't mean I was lost in a reverie of nostalgia, because that particular substance scarcely exists in me today, at least in its usual form. Nostalgia is just an illusion, a psychological litmus test that helps us understand what's missing in our lives. But it's an objective fact that I belong to a generation that is defined, in some irreducible part, by the opening chords of "Smoke On The Water" by Deep Purple. I didn't have to read this in a book, or on Twitter, or see Dazed and Confused, to know this. I didn't even have to like the song. And it was good to be reminded of this, and to briefly be drawn into an e-mail chain of people who all know this without having to say it. (Somehow I pictured us all as Jim Anchower, forgetting for the moment that we're closer to Don Draper these days.)
A few months ago I saw a crazy middle-aged man stumbling down the street, howling some song we all heard on the radio too many times when we were young. It was just stuck in this man's head in a more profound and damaging way than it was in my own. This irritated me, and I thought to myself that when today's young generation gets to be my age, they won't have this problem. The middle-aged homeless man of 2035 will be singing a song that maybe 2 percent of his contemporaries will recognize, because they all grew up listening to different music on their own individual iPods. The large-scale broadcast technology of my youth shaped me in some ways that feel like Cylon programming, as when I respond to the siren call of the oldies playlist in a Lucky Jeans store. But there are times when it comforts, too. We all need to belong to something other than our gated communities or, in fact, the cultural affinity groups we may consider so chic. Personally, I listen mostly to Taiwanese rock and pop these days, because it's the new thing in my life and it's fun to get to know more artists and fans in this area. (And, incidentally, because it reminds me of Seventies music.) But it's good to know that "Smoke On The Water" belongs to me, and I belong to "Smoke On The Water."
All of which reminds me that tonight on KLOS, the legendary KMET comedy DJ Dr. Demento was going to do a full hour of his old records. That'd be over by now, and I missed it. Just as well. A Sunday night of that would have sent me over the edge.
posted by Steve at
9:49 PM
2 Comments:
I took a fish head,
Out to see a movie,
Didn't have to pay
To get it in
I'm so glad Dr. Demento is still around.
Speaking of L.A. radio - Remember the Real Don Steele? Humble Harv? Elliot Mintz? (For many years he was a courier for Yoko/Lennon). There used to be a smooth British radio talk show host in LA named Michael Jackson. Since the King of Pop's real star on Hollywood Boulevard was covered up by the premier of Bruno (at the Chinese Theater?) fans placed memorial items on talk show host Michael Jackson's star.
In an AP article about congresswoman Sheila Jackson speaking at MJ's memorial it noted that she was "no relation" to Michael Jackson.
The song "Fish Heads" often heard on Demento was recorded by the not really twins Barnes & Barnes one of whom was actually Billy Mumy of Lost in Space fame.
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