Just out of curiosity, what is the appropriate time to begin freaking out about one’s ever-advancing age?
Here’s my sad story for the day. Listening to the radio, I heard a song I liked, one I’d never heard before because I’m too old to listen to modern music. The male singer reminisced about the summer of 1989, when he’d enjoyed the company of a young woman and spent the summer singing along to Sweet Home Alabama. The song included the instantly recognizable riffs from that classic tune, and had a happy, 70’s pop flavor to it. I enjoy 70’s pop and I love me some Lynyrd Skynyrd, because I’m just that old. So I got on the google to track this song down.
To my dismay, the artist turned out to be Kid Rock, a singer I associate with misogynistic, pornographic lyrics. The tune that I liked, called All Summer Long, appears on an album called Rock n Roll Jesus. I listened to the sample bits on Amazon, finding enough pornography in those few seconds to convince me to pass. So I visited iTunes, hoping I could pony up 99 cents for the one song. But no. Mr. Rock refuses to sell his music on iTunes, because he views his albums as works of art that should not be sold piecemeal to the public.
Kid, your albums are not art. They are mostly trash. Indeed, I’ve only heard the radio version of All Summer Long, and probably wouldn’t appreciate the unexpurgated version anyway. No, I will not purchase an album I wouldn’t want my kids to listen to. If you sent me a free copy for my birthday, I would toss it in the trash with the Pizza Hut coupon.
***Going back to the blues***