Turn on, tune in, opt out

“A subconscious opting out from the musical zeitgeist is a vital part of adulthood. It’s a survival mechanism, a gentle nudge to remind us of the fundamental division between the end of youth and the onset of early middle age.”

Yes, yes, yes, I couldn’t agree more with this article, as penned by a former NME hack in this weekend’s Guardian, which argues that as we get older we shouldn’t be ashamed of our somewhat narrowing music tastes. Stand tall, and tell the fashionistas that you’re proud to be out of touch.

It’s undoubtedly significant that this article is from The Guardian too, as these days it’s probably the primary source of the very infrequent music reviews I read; the other recommendations tend to come from, well, you lot - bloggers. I finally stopped buying my sole remaining music monthly, Q magazine, just over a year ago, bringing to an end at least sixteen years of regularly flicking through music publications of some kind. There’s so much music thrown at us online, on TV and, of course, on the radio that I no longer felt the need to buy a magazine (the majority of which I didn’t usually get round to reading) to keep me informed; besides which, I wasn’t even sure that I wanted to be kept informed.

I know I often joke about not having the slightest idea what all the kids are listening to, acting like my parents when I happen to catch sight of the latest edition of Top of the Pops and, above all, hearing the latest band tipped for the top and wondering why they sound like they’re straight out of 1981, but I’m now fully prepared to admit that one of the best things that ever happened to my love for music was entering my thirties. Because I simply don’t care anymore.

Thinking back, it was actually bloody exhausting being a reader of both NME and Melody Maker each week, and then trying to keep up with every act upon whom they were busily bestowing the title of “best new band in Britain”. It was impossible to make my student grant and, later, my unemployment benefit or first meagre salary stretch to buying all those new releases, and there was little or no chance of getting to hear previews of tracks in an age where online audio samples probably hadn’t even appeared as a vision of the future on Tomorrow’s World.

Inevitably then, I would spend money I shouldn’t have spent and buy the occasional album in shiny new cassette format (yes, you heard, a cassette - I was never a vinyl junkie, and my first CD player wasn’t bought until 1993). I would then get my purchase home and invariably discover that only half the songs by the music weeklies’ bright new hopes were actually listenable. I wouldn’t admit to that at the time, of course. Oh no. Like the emperor’s new clothes applied to the latest noisy indie darlings, I would nod along appreciatively, whilst probably secretly wondering why I couldn’t just listen to Erasure instead and have done with it.

Take Sonic Youth, for instance - no, I mean it, please take Sonic Youth. A decade or so on from buying a few of their albums, can anyone look me in the eye and honestly tell me that they’ve ever sat through an entire Sonic Youth collection and enjoyed it? No, I didn’t think so. And why did I buy Sonic Youth albums? Because the NME and Melody Maker told me to, frothing at the mouth about “magnificent cathedrals of noise and distortion” (probably) and proclaiming them as the ground-breaking future of music. (Don’t take this critical mauling personally if you’re a Sonic Youth fan - I still like a few songs from their back catalogue, and this rant about my youthful music tastes could apply equally well to a host of other bands and artists that I’m probably just too embarrassed to mention here.)

I think this attitude of just wanting to listen to whatever the hell you like listening to has also fuelled the success of radio stations such as Radio 2 and, to a lesser extent, 6 Music. Not yet possessing a digital radio, I only get to listen to the latter online, but I like its overall approach. It feels like they’re playing through a mixed bag of CDs that have just been dragged out of an eclectic music collection. In fact, if they have a vacancy, I’d rather like a show on that network. If I’d given them a taster of what was on my iPod this morning as I lay in bed, you could have been listening to Mazzy Star, followed by Sleeping Satellite by long forgotten one-hit wonder Tasmin Archer, Shake Some Action by The Flamin’ Groovies, an old Erasure song (I knew they’d get back in here somehow), a couple of wistful numbers by Ed Harcourt, some Kate Rusby, singer-songwriter stuff from Tom Baxter, original variety Britpop from The Auteurs, the new album from The Go-Betweens, and all finished off with a little Icelandic electronica from Mum. Oh, and there was a reverential classical interlude for some Arvo Part, but I guess they might have passed on that one.

Having said all that, unlike the writer of the original piece quoted above, I still draw the line at Phil Collins or Supertramp. Well, you’ve got to have some standards, haven’t you?