Listen: I'm the last person who wants to read some crotchety bro complain about how he's having a midlife crisis because the bartenders at the rock 'n' roll shows never ask to see his ID. But I'm getting old. And if you grew up in the same house as me (figuratively, of course), so are you.
Our childhoods were situated in an awkward time, culturally speaking. Most of us were too young to consciously select pop culture in the '90s, so it went through the filter of parents, friends, or older siblings—and even that was filtered through the pre-Internet media options. And by the time the naughts came around and we were old enough to have attuned ourselves to discover so-called ""underground"" groups like the Strokes, our childhood was already well into phase two—adolescence. I'm a fourth-year psych major and I still have no idea whether this rift in development is organic or not, but my best guess is that our youth was divided because it just happened to straddle both the boom of the Internet and the budding threat of global terrorism. Developmental phase two is the one where I finally got a girlfriend and was good at sports, but developmental phase one, for all of us, was an isolated incident of both a pure media and a worldwide blissful ignorance. And now those days are folding in on themselves.
Skip ahead to this past summer, when I spent way too much money to see Pavement at the swankier-than-thou Roy Wilkins Auditorium in Saint Paul, Minn. Pavement were the epitome of '90s swag; too indifferent to let corporate America seize them, while at the same time too talented and stylish for them ever to be tossed aside. But Pavement in 2010 were a completely different band. Sure, the songs still sounded the same—they played ""Debris Slide"" and I got all excited—but they were playing in an arena that sold domestic tap beers for $8.
It's something in my genes that doesn't let me pay much for beers. As far as I'm concerned, venues should be lowering prices just to thank me for not exclusively drinking the beers I brought in my crotch. For me, developmental phase one turned into developmental phase two after I heard The Strokes' Is This It. I had tickets to see The Strokes in Milwaukee with my friend Eric when I was in middle school, but then I got all tummy-sick and had to skip it.
But this time, for their set at Lollapalooza, I held up just fine. The Strokes' closing slot gave me a lot of time for drinking—I mean, thinking about how awful a group of burnouts who followed First Impressions of Earth with The Time of the Assassins (Nickel Eye) and Phrazes for the Young (Julian Casablancas) would sound after spending another few months in the studio. For me and a full set of 20- and 30-somethings, that was a risk worth running when the alternative was Lady Gaga trampin' around the stage. Lady Gaga might be an appropriate figurehead for how pop music has aged, but The Strokes gave everyone around me exactly what we wanted: No new bullshit, just the old jams. Just the stuff we could embrace.
The Strokes got the big Lollapalooza slot, but more and more bands have started doing the same thing in smaller venues. Neutral Milk Hotel's recluse Jeff Mangum played a surprise solo set in Brooklyn a month ago, Blur just confirmed they'll get together and do ""something"" this year, Archers of Loaf played all classic nugs at a surprise set in North Carolina just last weekend, Pulp is re-uniting for a few shows this year, Desaparecidos played a few benefits and even Death From Above 1979 is making nice and playing Coachella (unless they break up again before then, who knows).
It's a murderer's row of '90s college rock demigods (DFA1979 was later, but the hell if I'm not going to include them here) all getting back together. So what the heck does it mean? This much activity has to stem from something bigger than Kings of Leon pissing on everyone's graves.
About two hours ago my friend alerted me to news that apparently happened two months ago: Add New Kids on the Block and Backstreet Boys to the list of '90s groups packing the Alka Seltzer and hitting the road this year (hopefully they've aged better than the absurdly dull Lisa Loeb. For anyone who missed her set at Taste of Madison: Yikes). You see, this is the twilight of '90s culture. Everyone who was listening in the '90s is old enough to afford concert tickets but not too old to skip out because they couldn't find a babysitter; while everyone who was playing in the '90s is just barely young enough to strap on the old Gibson one more time.
The '90s cultural touchstones are clustering together the way particles of matter group up before a star explodes. Our childhood is crashing in on itself, and pretty soon we'll be forced to abandon it entirely. Compare this to the timing of the ""Toy Story"" franchise as you see fit—but me, I'm graduating from college in May and pretty soon I'm not always going to be able to do stuff like go to the bars on a Tuesday night.
So welcome back for the spring semester. Enjoy it, because who knows what's going to happen when nobody understands Jock Jams jokes anymore.
Is growing up making you into a crotchety bro? Are your favorite bands fucking everything up? Commiserate with Kyle at ktsparks@wisc.edu.
