Keeping up with new music can feel like an equally exhausting task bordering on the futile. I loved Emma Garland’s recent article on deactivating her streaming accounts and giving up on endlessly chasing the zeitgeist (ie mediocre TV) simply because that’s what’s directing the conversation. Nor is there anything wrong with stepping away from the endless churn. The world can be an overflowing cesspit, and if using familiar music to ignite fond memories helps, then drink it up. Though I’m not begrudging anyone some nostalgia. Objectionable as that particular fetishism is, it’s an interesting generational insight into how those staring down middle age recalibrate their relationship to music. This lack of interest in new music seems to coincide – or perhaps even feeds – huge surges in nostalgia around my age group: take the odd phenomenon of so-called indie sleaze, with its warped rose-tinted shutter glasses and desire to retroactively create something that didn’t exist. Another simply says it’s harder to muster that same level of excitement about anything, period, while one former consumer and maker of music happily admits that he now only really listens to three bands. One similarly aged and child-free friend who admits to a dwindling passion for music says it’s a combination of going out less – and so music is no longer the centre of socialising – preferring to listen to podcasts, and having more options available across streaming. Photograph: Hannes Draxler/Fotokerschi.AT/AFP/Getty Images No takers … Nick Cave performing in Austria.
Sometimes when I speak to people about going to gigs, festivals or raves, I see an almost pitying look wash over their face: “Really? You’re still doing that? Bless.” As if clinging on represents some childish refusal to let go of youth, the equivalent of a balding mod refusing to shave off their depleting feather cut.
Music is a key part of youthful identity formation: once your idea of yourself becomes fixed, perhaps by distinct markers like marriage and kids, the need for it slips away. Yet music seems to be something that more commonly slips away – or is even perceived as something you’re supposed to grow out of. Most people don’t stop discovering new books, films, podcasts or TV. There may be more hurdles to committing to cultural discovery but people don’t become fundamentally less curious because they get older. It’s easy to chalk this up to simply getting older, as the rabid enthusiasm, naivety and passion of youth dwindles, but that has an ageist presumption baked into it.
I’ve not been able to give away free tickets to see Nick Cave, staggeringly expensive arena pop shows, or even entire festival weekend passes. The shift is a subtle one a sudden realisation that hits as the once regular conversation of “what are you listening to?” is seemingly replaced permanently by “what are you watching?” I’ve lost count of the amount of free +1 tickets I’ve had go unaccounted for the seat next to me becoming a coat stand. Nevertheless, it’s a strange and alienating experience to have a fundamental part of your relationship with someone deteriorate. Gigs become less attractive when a small person screams you awake at 5am. A parent with two kids under five has things higher up their to-do list than checking out Jockstrap. Not that there’s anything wrong with tapping out, either – interests and priorities change.
I write about music for a living, and naturally I don’t expect others to maintain anywhere near the same level of interest – and not everyone reaches their 30s and gives up on music, as the success of BBC Radio 6 Music shows. The late DJ Andrew Weatherall, with his boundless curiosity, knowledge and passion for music, right up until his untimely death, is my personal benchmark and inspiration.
It’s something I’ve experienced a million times but when it hits it still feels new. The capacity to be amazed, overwhelmed or sucker-punched by music remains a constant presence and ecstatic joy in my life.