Teenage dreams so hard to beat
I was ready to mock - how could you not be? - the thirty- and forty-somethings singing 'So Young...' back to a man who has no right - no right I tell you! - to be as thin as he is at the age he is.
But, as it turns out, nostalgia is clearly the one drug we, collectively, cannot kick, and I was swept away along with everyone else, and have no voice because of it; and singing the songs of your teenage years with a couple of thousand other people holding back the future is a very good way to forget about the fact that, according to Simon Reynolds we're stuck in an infinite loop of yesterday, the avant garde to tomorrow as well-traversed as a hard shoulder.
If I were David Hepworth, I'd make some deeper, sociological point now. Alas, I can't do that, so instead I'll promise to buy The Wire later.
Labels: suede nostalgia