Proof: It Was Better Then (Reflections on Turning 50)
By Evan Ginzburg, special to thecheappop.com
As I hurdle towards my 50th birthday this week, I find myself in a reflective mood. All in all things are exceedingly good- a great woman in my life, a job I love and that pays decently, a recent checkup at the doctor’s office that indicated all is well, creative outlets that are starting to bear fruit, and so on.
But one thing does, in fact, bother me.
I’m starting to sound old.
You know, I catch myself doing a whole lot of “Things were better in my day” kind of grandpa speak. It particularly occurs when I’m on my radio show interviewing legendary musicians. “What the hell happened?” is generally the theme. How’d we get from Marvin, Stevie, and Smokey to crude and lewd rappers and such? But maybe I’m just plain wrong. Maybe I’m just being close-minded like most every other generation looking down at the music of the one that follows.
Or, gasp, maybe I’m just getting old and cranky.
But recently I had an epiphany. A revelation if you will. It started like most Saturdays for me. Shot out of a canon at the beginning of the work week, my apartment now looked like a tornado had hit it. Plus there were bills, recycling, and other tedious chores to deal with. So I decided to stick around, bite the bullet and just “do it.” Now I needed some music to make it all bearable and decided for simplicity’s sake to just leave on Centric (formerly BET J). With hours of Soul Train classic episodes and today’s videos on, there would be more than enough music to keep me distracted from the hours of mundane work that awaited me.
And did that plan ever work.
There was Al Green on Soul Train in all his 70s glory singing live. You Ought to Be With Me and For The Good Times were hauntingly beautiful and Love and Happiness almost impossibly great.
You don’t have to waste my time,
if you want to be a friend of mine,
you can be denied and walk away,
and turn your back for another day.
Man, do I ever love You Ought to Be With Me. If I ever really grow up, fully embrace commitment, and get married, that’ll play at the wedding for sure.
Then there was Luther. Can’t believe he’s really gone. He sang a mesmerizing live version of his masterpiece; A House Is Not a Home.
A room is still a room, even when there’s nothin’ there but gloom,
But a room is not a house and a house is not a home,
When the two of us are far apart,
And one of us has a broken heart.
Soul Train unfortunately ended and at some point Centric Hits started. This is a video compilation show with 2009 artists. As I vacuumed, dusted, and did my bills, I’d occasionally glance at the TV. At one point I noticed a young man who was way overdressed for the beach. In fact, he was the most overdressed beachgoer I’d ever seen, with the possible exception of Richard M. Nixon who absurdly campaigned on the sands of sunny California in a suit. Now this young fellow’s name eludes me as does the song title, but he had something truly profound to offer as his epic tune commenced.
Shorty, where you at?
Shorty, where you at?
Shorty, where you at?
Now I’m not going to go so far as to say this was terrible or even bad music. It was catchy enough, and would fall under the category of typical pop fare. All the while a bevy of bikini clad babes spiced things up, gyrating like their lives depended on it.
But it suddenly dawned on me. It hit me like a ton of bricks. Like a sign from above. This “Beach Blanket Playa’s” song of longing sure wasn’t Distant Lover. Nor was it My Cherie Amour. And it certainly won’t make anyone forget My Girl. And ‘till the day I die I’ll vouch that it isn’t A House Is Not a Home, You Ought To Be With Me, or Love And Happiness.
Shorty, where you at?
Shorty, where you at?
Shortly, where you at?
So I don’t know if this young gent ever finally found his long, lost Shorty, but I sure found out something. On the very same day, on the very same channel, I had somehow, miraculously discovered the PROOF I needed- that “oldheads” everywhere have sought for eternity.
No, I wasn’t some cranky old man. Music was, in FACT, better then.
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