Musical malady

It may seem a tad unfair to label me old-fashioned but when it comes to contemporary western music, I suppose I am a bit out of tune. The short email I received recently stated very briefly that the organisers are unable to accommodate me for ‘Thirty seconds to Mars’.

Clueless but excited about prospects of a potential trip to our neighbouring planet, I wasted no time in phoning the PR manager who signed the mail, drawing her attention to the ‘Mars’ invitation. “Ooh, we are extremely sorry Sir. The tickets got sold like hot cakes,” she said in a melodic voice, adding they might hopefully send me a pass for the next one. But I never asked for a pass I hastened to add, only to be told that my name was included in the mailing list on recommendation by a company director. Before she could ring off, I was curious to know what the Mars thing was. “It is the US rock band Sir playing this weekend,” she returned with a hint of amusement. I bit my tongue and thanked her.

Earlier this year, a junior colleague asked me if I was interested in ‘Usher’. Presuming he wanted me to be an usher at some event, I declined, reasoning the job was tiresome and I’d rather relax at home. He guffawed. “Haven’t you heard of Usher,” he asked in amazement and waxed lyrical about the R&B rap artist. As teenagers in the 70s we grew up on a diet of Beatles and BeeGees, Eagles and Bellamy Brothers, the likes of Donna Summer, Dolly Parton and some other pop icons. Today’s world of western music has thousands of singers and an equal number of bands that it is almost impossible to tell Foo Fighters from fire fighters or Garbage from trash! Besides, the heavy metal and screeching is hardly music to my ears, although this generation of teenagers including my two kids will vehemently disagree.

The other day my son and his friend were practicing some songs with electric guitars for their college fest. At dinner he was babbling about the upcoming show when I asked him if they finalised on their piece for the competition. Judas Priest or Green Day, he answered, suppressing a smile, certain that his father would draw a blank at the ambiguous names.  Indeed, who wouldn’t if bands adopted such monikers. Just then my daughter, whose music collection includes intriguing titles such as ‘Linkin Park’, ‘Anberlin’ and ‘ACDC’ piped in to suggest Green Day was passe and the boys would do well to belt out a Rancid or Godsmack number. That too went over my head. I quickly tucked into my rice and curry.