containing multitudes since 2004
Scooped again, and glad of it I am to see.I was all set to do Phil Ochs in an impending entry in that rather depressing series, but now's as good a time as any.Good job, monsieur Cooke!
I didn't discover Ochs until finding a copy of Chords of Fame in the library of my college radio station in the mid-'80s...but lo and behold, I knew one of his songs--Changes--from Gordon Lightfoot's cover version which I'd actually heard while Ochs was still alive (my dad is a big Lightfoot fan). So it's interesting that I at least have that connection. Tonight at the aforementioned party I met some kids who were amazed I knew who Darby Crash was before he died (and before they were born). Such is the life of the aging hipster.
From one aging hipster to another (one who's got two years on you), one's distance from the younger set only grows with time no matter how much about contemporary culture you've consumed. Though there are the ocasional surprises. For instance, about a year and a half ago, girl of some 17 summers who was a volunteer at the Public Access salt mine where I toil heard me mention Nick Drake (God only knows why his name came up) in a conversation with a co-worker, and them proceeded to get all enthusiastic about he and his music. It seems she'd been listening to his stuff for a few years. Further inquiry revealed she was also a fan of the aforementioned Gordon Lightfoot, Leonard Cohen and (yeesh) Jackson Brown.Now my first instinct would have been to follow the male compulsion (she was aggressively hot, I thought) . . . you know, invite her over to my abode after work to listen to some Tim Buckley records or something. But . . . she was a young lass of 17 and I . . . a seasoned romeo hurtling toward 40.No Roman Polanski am I, so I let it go.(sigh)
Ah, I know of whence you speak...(whence...another "w"!)...since I am not married, my attempts to find female companionship are wildly out of whack, since most of the women my age are either married with kids, or simply don't bother having a social life anymore. So I either meet young women who are old enough to be my daughter (you know, if I got someone pregnant in my mid-teens) or divorcees ten years my senior.But at least the young women I meet have decent taste in music. So they're fun to hang out with, but morally I also feel compelled to draw a line there. But they're into Barrett-era Pink Floyd (I got one girl a copy of some pre-Piper demos and Vegetable Man and blew her mind), Nick Drake, Elliott Smith, Nilsson, Joni Mitchell and so on. One girlI know in her early '20s--also heart achingly beautiful--is in love with the music and culture of the 1930s and actually came over for a double feature of Blessed Event and I've Got Your Number, and was delighted. Sadly, she's a little lax on the getting-back-to-me front, but c'est la vie. Or c'est la guerre (I keep seeing her out with pretty, empty-headed young men), I guess.
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