OK, maybe it’s time to admit that I’m finally too old for all of this. Last night I went to see another band – The Black Angels – and I’m starting to feel like I don’t belong. It’s not the music. The band were excellent, and I was shuffling along as enthusiastically as the next person (apart from the guy who was flailing his arms around wildly and making guttural grunts of appreciation at the end of every song, but I put that down to his superior drug intake and not the quality of the music – he would have probably acted the same had it been Rolf Harris playing his vibraphone up there). It’s the audience. I just can’t deal with them any more.
For the kind of music I like, the audience at gigs is almost entirely comprised of college students. And students are such wankers. And I should know: I was a student once, and I was a wanker, too. Sure, I thought I was the coolest person ever in my skinny black jeans (that I’d had to take in myself due to malnutrition brought on by the standard student diet of toast for every meal) and my bondage boots and a bullet belt, and a ‘cred’ band’s tour shirt with the sleeves torn off, and my hair teased upwards in sheer defiance of gravity. Yeah, I sure thought I had it going on. But that was 20-some years ago. Now, my legs aren’t quite so skinny (due to a diet of whatever I damn well please), and there’s not that much hair left to tease. I wouldn’t necessarily say I’ve matured with age, but I’ve at least come to recognize what a wanker I was. So when I see a whole roomful of people in skinny black jeans, and T-shirts with the arms torn off, it’s difficult to feel anything but contempt.
I used to like going to gigs. I used to feel an affinity with everyone else there – a kind of communal pull – brought on by the recognition that there were other people who liked the same music as I did (most of my friends did not, and I’m sure my girlfriend at the time only used to pretend to like the same music just to get in my pants). I used to identify with them. But as I looked around the audience at last night’s gig I realized that there was almost nothing I had in common with them. The guys are all trying to carve out a unique identity by growing out their hair (both head and facial) in a way that’s slightly different (but never quit different enough) to the next guy, who is also trying to carve out a unique identity. Everyone’s trying to appear non-conformist whilst simultaneously trying desperately to fit in with their peers. And then there’s the girls, all pert and bendy-looking, who I would probably have fancied back in the day (but never had the courage/confidence to make eye contact with let alone chat up), but to look at them inappropriately now – when I’m twice their age – would be, well, inappropriate, even if I wasn’t married with three children. They (the girls) all seem to be in competition to find the ugliest/stupidest-looking guy there (damn, how come that wasn’t the M.O. when I was in college??). For my money, the girl who’d managed to snap-up the disheveled slacker whose eyes were so half-closed he probably couldn’t even see the greasy fringe that stretched down to his slack-jawed wispy-haired chin let alone the stage, was a clear winner. The envy of all her friends, I’m sure.
It’s depressing. Music is a big part of my life, and I want to see the bands I like live, but I just can’t enjoy the gigs any more. It’s not that I’m self-conscious about my age – being the oldest person there stopped bothering me ten years ago. If people think I’m only there to chauffeur my kids, that’s fine. Doesn’t bother me. I’m just tired of being surrounded by self-conscious wankers who probably put more thought into what they wear to the gig – and how everyone else will react to what they wear – than they put into appreciating the music.  A good third of the people were just milling around chatting (shouting) with their friends. And those that were listening probably didn’t get half of it, because they lack the depth of musical experience.  [The Black Angels are named after a Velvet Underground song (The Black Angel’s Death Song), mining a similar vein of ’60s psychedelia, but I’d bet that 90% of the audience have never even heard the album it came off (The Velvet Underground & Nico
Ah, maybe I’m just tired. Yesterday I had to work a 14-hour day before I went to the gig. I got home at 1:30am and was up again at 5:30am again to do it all over again. And it’s hard work. Students think they work hard? They don’t know shit. Go out late, sleep in until midday; skip a lecture, who cares.  Turn up at a meeting unprepared (let alone miss it entirely), or take a nosedive on your KPIs and you damn well feel the squeeze. Maybe I just envy their freedom, their lack of responsibility. Or maybe I’m just squirming uncomfortably at the realization that that used to be me. Or the even more uncomfortable realization that I’m slowly turning into my dad, railing against the perceived failings of “youth”.
Whatever the reason, I just don’t think I can do this any more. I’m starting to think that maybe I’m better off sitting at home in my standard blue Levi’s and an intact T-shirt, with my headphones on and my eyes closed, and being able to focus on the music and not the ball of contempt that Johnny Student’s ‘wacky’ headwear is slowly teasing up my throat…
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