It's All About Context

            Musical taste generates debates that pit parents against children, a veritable litmus test of trendiness, offering countless opportunities for disparaging remarks.  Each genre defines those who came of age during its height.  Invariably, the elder generation stands dismissive, and the current music scene defends its newfound relevance.  Consider the Who, “…people try to put us down / talkin’ ‘bout my generation…” or Nirvana, “…here we are now, entertain us!” (which Weird Al parodied to its literal meaning “boy this oughtta bug your parents!”) or Eminem, “…hip-hop was never a problem in Harlem, only in Boston, after it bothered the fathers of daughters starting to blossom…”  The fact is, parents hate their children’s music, and the musicians their children love exploit this reality to its utmost profitability, writing songs tapping into this rage at being young, angry, and misunderstood.  So what?

            The AARP card-carrying members of society eschew the bumping and grinding of the club scene.  The young and restless rub their crotches against one another with the persistent din of lascivious profanity booming from speakers with the base pumped to levels that would induce a feeling of disorientation if the cocktails had not already achieved that objective.   Meanwhile, the more sophisticated generation, having already smoked enough pot collectively to make Willie Nelson look like a Mormon, invented a pill which led to more casual sex than the jungle juice at a frat house after finals, and took social commentary from a man named “Wavy Gravy” has now retired to games of canasta in far more sedate locales.   Despite this, there is one scenario in which these lines in the sand must fall…

            This past weekend, on a dance floor at the side of my fiancée, I found myself getting down to Taio Cruz’s “Dynamite.”  Surrounding us were twenty-something men attempting to fondle discretely the rear ends of the twenty-something females in their vicinity (failing at the “discrete” part) and a nearby bar served all manner of intoxicants.  However, sharing this dance floor were several borderline geriatrics, attempting to cut a rug while simultaneously favoring their new hip replacements.  That’s right, this was a wedding, the ultimate proof that something as deep-rooted, generational, and socially-defining as musical taste is simply a matter of context.   Sure, if Mick Jagger sings “…brown sugar, how come you taste so good…just like a young girl should...” or Aretha Franklin sings “sock it to me” repeatedly, or the Beatles croon that “happiness is a warm gun,” it is simply the melodious sounds of yesteryear.  When Sir Mix-A-Lot sings “I like big butts and I cannot lie,” it is tasteless and tawdry.  When Marvin Gaye sings “let’s get it on” or “open up and let me in,” it is romantic?

            While the song in question contained lyrics that might ordinarily cause that decidedly glazed expression of indifference or disgust, the senior citizens shook their rumps alongside their children and grandchildren.  Why? Because context dictated that such behavior was appropriate.  Consider the following evidence that we are not quite as musically intolerant across generations as one might imagine.  I am twenty-seven years old.  Were one to scour the music selected by myself and my contemporaries, nestled among the hits that the baby-boomers despise, one finds Bruce Springsteen and Billy Joel, Paul Simon and Bob Dylan, the Beatles and the Rolling Stones.  Indeed, these artists can be found at weddings and the young and old once again share the dance floor graciously, immersed in music the spans the decades.  When Taio Cruz is blasted from speakers “in the club,” amidst mini-skirts and bling, it is abhorrent.  If a twelve piece band that meets the aesthetic expectations of the smart elder set plays the same song amidst suits and ties, they are eager to revel in the festive occasion with the youngsters.