“It made me want to ask a question that, like those twin impulses of adolescence itself, is both facetious and sincere: am I too old for pop? He kindly obliged via email. After joking that I was ‘certainly too old to be a music journalist – they generally peak in their early teens’, he went on: ‘But seriously, pop matters most when you’re younger. At that early stage, our appreciation of pop, and of music in general, is uncluttered by history, significance or other people’s expectations. It’s just a rush of joyful acceptance.’”
In an excellent article for The Guardian, a YouTube video by Adam Bainbridge, aka Kindness, spurs journalist Hermione Hoby to question whether or not she’s too old for pop music and if everyone over the age of 25 years old evolves into the proverbial Mr. Jones chastised by Bob Dylan in 1965.
I’ve wondered myself. I’ve not actually questioned whether being 28 makes me too old for pop music, but I have worried that as I get older, my concert lifestyle might suffer. I don’t just mean going to concerts, I mean, standing in line early, running to the stage, securing a spot front and center, screaming my head off and executing whatever limited “concert dance moves” I posses. And the problem isn’t that I am worried I can’t survive the concert lifestyle, the problem is I am concerned about becoming that crazy old person all the kids wish would leave. But then I get over it. Because when I’m at a concert, I’m in a moment uncluttered by history, significance or other people’s expectations. I find complete bliss.