Your moderator, Mr Moderator, is interviewed on Dan Buskirk’s excellent Fun2Know podcast. Enjoy, as Townsman db and I did during our chat.
My 18-year-old son was telling me last week about his recent mission to spend entire days listening to the complete catalogs of artists who have interested him. One day, through Spotify, he listened to every Creedence Clearwater Revival album in order. He dedicated another day to Lynyrd Skynyrd. His growing interest in rootsy music has led him to investigate a genre I’ve never come to terms with: Country music.
“You know what’s the best driving station on the radio?” he asked me, to kick off this conversation.
“What.”
“92.5, the Country station.”
“Really?” I tried to hide my concern over imagining my usually hip, somewhat snobbish son as a budding Bro-Country guy, clutching a Solo cup in the parking lot.
“Yeah,” he said, “the thing I’m realizing about Country music is that although not much of it is great, not much of it sucks.”
This is the kind of insight that has led me to lay the plans for one day turning over the “family business” of rock snobbery to my boys!
What musical wisdom has come from the mouths of your babes in recent months?
Every once in a while some old song comes across the public airwaves and I’m perplexed by what anyone found appealing about it then or now. Recently Billy Joel’s “Big Shot” was playing over a store’s speakers, and I tried to imagine what it would feel like to experience any sort of enjoyment while listening to the song. I was stumped. There are so many things I hate about the song: the oompah rhythms; Joel’s hectoring, faux-tough guy tone; the sax hook; the time when he sings beeeeg shot; and so forth. It was like trying to imagine any kind of positive physical sensation while sticking hot pokers in my eyes.
Someone out there must have experienced a positive reaction to Billy Joel’s “Big Shot” at some time. Blame it on youth. Blame it on sneaking wine at the Bar Mitzvah. Blame it on whatever, but please explain what it feels like to have enjoyed sticking hot pokers in your eyes. Thank you.
I suspect you agree I’m a kinder, gentler, wiser Mr. Moderator. It’s not only apathy that’s kept me from saying anything about the sudden, premature death of founding Eagles member Glenn Frey. It’s also maturity. And increasing fear of The Reaper.
I hadn’t planned on posting any snarky thoughts Frey’s death, and I still won’t, but some Guardian piece lambasting people for mocking Glenn Frey’s death while celebrating David Bowie’s, which a friend posted on his Facebook feed has me feeling like, I don’t know, the meaner, harsher, more ignorant Mr. Moderator of old.
The holier-than-thou tone of the Guardian’s subtitle was enough to make my blood boil:
Who’s this Guardian writer to call younger, nastier, less-afraid-of-dying himself me a hypocrite? Call Younger Me and my ilk rude, immature, disrespectful…sure, but where does it say anyone needs to pretend that Bowie and Frey’s life works need to be considered on the same playing field? Can’t we be respectful while staying true to our own tastes and feelings? I tried, in my reply to my friend’s Facebook post. For the record, after being up there in his thread for nearly 12 hours, I have yet to receive a single Like. I’m not sitting by a large window, looking out at the rain, as a single teardrop rolls down my cheek, but I am a bugged enough to share my thoughts on the death and life of Glenn Frey. I hope my words help as you process this passing:
On this week’s very special episode of Saturday Night Shut-In Mr. Moderator reflects on his experiences with David Bowie’s lyrics.
RTH Saturday Night Shut-In, episode 146
Rock Town Hall’s Saturday Night Shut-In, episode 146: Bowie’s Lyrics by Mr Moderator on Mixcloud
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