Bah! What’s with all this happy music? From synthy dance stuff to quirky Juno-soundtrack pablum, it’s like they’re piping prozac into the water system.
Back in MY day, indie rock meant whining about the girlfriend that done you wrong, or complaining about that girl that won’t talk to you, or something having to do with Anne Frank. You know, real life things. From the streets! Music was about complaining, and feeling melancholy, and thinking about your deep important problems. Other privileged college-aged people listened and understood, and thought, “yeah! I had a girlfriend once!” or, “singing about Anne Frank is totally meaningful!” or, “I need to take a semester in Glasgow.”
Bah. Now we have bands with names like “Butts” and “James Pants” who have “fun” and play shows so people can have “fun” at them, and dance around and drink beer and enjoy their youth in ways that don’t involve moping. This is crap! Young people are supposed to mope, and sit around being sad about stuff, and play music that exquisitely highlights one’s inner pain. Their heart pain. Not like arrhythmia, I mean more pure, you know? If only there was a band for that. Something to listen to while you pick a liberal arts major and/or drug problem.
Sigh. I guess this world is a-changin’ and leaving ol’ Indie behind. That’s why music is printed on plastic, so your Smiths and Azure Ray albums will last forever. So don’t mind me! I’ll be in my room. Alone, in the dark. Having feelings.
