Incident type: Cultural. Terminal.
Location: Back seat of a car, family trip, legroom of a coffin.
Persons involved: Myself (39), my niece (15), one phone, one song, my relevance (deceased).
Summary of Events
At approximately 14:20, my niece asked whether I had “heard the new one” by an artist whose name sounded like a forgotten password. I said, confidently, “Oh yeah, love them.” This was a lie. I did not know if the artist was a person, a band or a font.
She played the song. I nodded along, off the beat, like a man trying to blend into a nightclub in 1998 and failing then too.
Observations
- The song lasted ninety seconds. In my day songs were four minutes, with a guitar solo in the middle long enough to go to the toilet and have a small life crisis.
- Nobody sang words. They sang feelings, at speed, in a language I am too old to be taught.
- It was catchy. I hummed it later. I will hum it at my retirement party, and no one will know it either.
There’s a moment when “new music” stops meaning songs that just came out and starts meaning anything released after you signed a mortgage.
Contributing Factors
I stopped following new music somewhere in the third season of a box set I can’t remember. My playlists haven’t been updated since. The newest song on my phone is old enough to drive, vote and refuse to visit me.
Outcome
My niece asked what I listened to “at her age.” I played her a song from my youth, the soundtrack to my best years. She listened politely. Then said, “Oh, this is from that video where the cat falls off the fridge.”
So that’s my youth now. A cat. Falling.
Recommendations
- Do not pretend to know songs. Teenagers can smell it, like dogs and HR.
- Ask them to play more. They light up. It’s the only time they’ll look at you willingly this decade.
- Accept that your era is a sound effect on cat videos. That’s the only legacy on offer.
Report closed. Song stuck in head. Artist still unknown. Asked niece to text it to me. She sent a link and a single, pitying emoji. I have read that emoji eleven times. It is my eulogy.