"In My Opinion . . ."
Oct. 21, 1999
Quite often, as I sit comatosely waiting for the food fairy to
magically prepare dinner in the evening, I surf through myriad
cable TV channels. Often I end up on VH1 watching "Where are
They Now?" This show brings the viewer up-to-date on every
pop, rock, and R&B singer and group that has ever been,
whether they enjoyed lengthy fame in the past or simply produced
one hit.
My favorite shows deal with the biggies from the 60s and 70s. Naturally, as a baby boomer, those were my formative years. Though I recognize tunes from the 80s, the people who made them are unrecognizable to me: I was busy raising little kids during those years and more likely to remember scenes from "Mr. Rogers Neighborhood" and "Sesame Street" than videos of the Stray Cats and Van Halen.
The problem with catching up on the activities of all the old timers is that too often they're still rocking. Or at least trying to. It's one thing when you're the Rolling Stones. I get perverse pleasure out of seeing how incredibly ugly and wrinkled those old fogies are. They make me feel pretty good by comparison. I get no pleasure out of the has-beens who think they've still "got it." These guys honestly must believe they can still make the young girls wild, as if a flabby paunch, a semi-bald head with stringy grey hair pulled into a ponytail, and dead brain cells from all life's excesses are going to somehow tweak the pleasure center of anyone under the age of 50...or over.
Let's face it. Old rock and roll fans don't want to see old rockers, they only want to hear them. It's the young, hot, hard-bodied wild guys who belong up there on the stage. They're the only ones with the stamina to make it through a night's set and do it 200 shows a year on the road. But don't expect me to be there in the audience to watch them. I'll gladly give up my seat for someone under 30. Just let me see the video in the comfort of my soft Lazy-Boy recliner.