2025 was a weird year for music. There was so much anxiety as Trump drug America into the gutter, I kept waiting for the soundtrack to kick in to amplify our revolution. Luckily we had regular gems dropped by Jesse Welles, the Arkansas bard. Watching him perform “Join ICE” on Colbert last month gave me hope that protest music still matters. I leaned heavily on the North Carolina punk band, The Muslims and their great 2021 album, Fuck These Fuckin Fascists, to get me through. That and my local jazz station, KMHD. But there were a dozen or so new releases that really brought me immense listening pleasure this year.
My 11-year-old daughter, who one year ago was a hardcore Swiftie, buzzing from seeing one of Taylor’s final Eras concerts, has moved on. “Dad, you love Taylor Swift more than I do.” I get what’s happening. She’s differentiating herself. I’ve loved the K-Pop that is now at the top of her charts, especially Stray Kids, but if I like it TOO much, I’ll ruin it for her. We did have a great moment in October listening to Swift’s new The Life of a Showgirl stream through the house (from separate rooms). Cozy was meh, and I was blown away by the song craft and the dialed back production that seemed very 70s FM to my ears. This is the Taylor Swift album I’ve been waiting for. By the fifth track, “Eldest Daughter,” I knew this album would be spinning non-stop.
It was a great year to be a Beatle fan, starting off with the best Ringo Starr solo album in ages, Look Up, where our drummer goes back to his first love of country music with great joy. The thirtieth anniversary of the Beatles Anthology series gave us Anthology 4. The collection included 13 unreleased tracks, plus the three remastered “Threatles” songs. The compilation was so lovingly assembled by Giles Martin, it felt like stepping into the studio with the boys. There is still magic to be discovered (and the Rubber Soul cuts were revelatory).
My absolute favorite discovery of 2025 is the Denver band, Dead Pioneers, fronted by Paiute spoken word artist, Gregg Deal. Their 2023 debut album and 2025’s PO$T AMERICAN slam punk rock power and indigenous indignation in a way that is both humorous and revolutionary. The PO$T AMERICAN tracks, “My Spirit Animal Ate Your Spirit Animal” and “STFU” nearly blew out my speakers this year. After the first listen, I immediately ordered a Dead Pioneers t-shirt and began saying prayers that they’d come to Portland. There has been a great void in my music collection by indigenous artists. If anyone should be raging against the machine in ICE America, it’s the first people. PO$T AMERICAN is everything I loved about The Clash 45 years ago. The more I listen the more I learn and the louder the drums get.
Fifty years ago, I was 11 years old and somewhere between my Elton John phase and my Kiss phase. All the girls in my class were in their Bay City Rollers phase. Now I have an 11-year-old and she’s firmly in her K-Pop phase. Yeah, there’s a new Taylor Swift album out tomorrow but that pales in comparison to having every single incarnation of the new album by Stray Kids (available at Target). I know, because I’ve had to drive her there to get each version. “I’m spending my own money, Dad!” I laugh because I was right there, spending my chore money on Kiss posters.
Three thoughts.
Thought One: I love the evolution of music. If you would have asked me in 1975 what the pop music of 2025 might sound like, I never would have guessed the post-modern electro-clash of South Korean K-Pop groups. It’s like music from another planet. Just blast “Ceremony” by Stray Kids and tell me what you are listening to. But it’s infectious. Is it “noise” (Get out my yard, kids!) or a brilliant innovation of the pop music genre? The rock and roll ethic is youth music is supposed to set the younger generation apart from the older generation. My Dad’s parents hated Elvis and my dad hated Run DMC. I’m supposed to hate this music but I’m fascinated by it. Sorry, Cozy. I’m in.
Thought Two: I used to lecture about “teenybopper” culture in my Sociology of Youth Subculture class. About how research shows that the “culture of the bedroom” allows pre-teen girls to experiment with heterosexual norms of dating. I’m from the seventies, so their were a lot of girls buying Tiger Beat for the pin-ups of Leif Garret and Shaun Cassidy. Cozy’s Stray Kids box sets come with similar swag that ends up on her bedroom wall. Her and her friend screamed yesterday as they pulled out the pictures of the members of the boy band, including Hyunjin, who she declared was her “husband.” Classic teenybopper. How many women my age were sure they would marry Donny Osmond?
Thought Three: Music is such a great way to bond with your kid. Some families have sports, or religion, or animal husbandry. Our house has always been filled with an unhealthy obsession with music. Taking Cozy to see Taylor Swift last year was something we will both talk about for the rest of our days. Being present for her present K-Pop obsession is a great gift and she knows I appreciate it because I was in a similar spot. (There is more than one picture of me in Kiss make-up.) Andi and I took Cozy to see the film Demon Hunter at the theater and she sang every world. On the fourth of July, Cozy and her girl squad were crammed into my Subaru and they put “Gnarly” by KATSEYE on repeat and full volume and sang at the top of their lungs while they threw Snap n Pops at pedestrians. It was bliss.
Thanks to Facebook routinely reminding me, I am often lamenting over pics of Cozy the Toddler. Or Cozy the Second Grader. I posted a lot of pictures of her and that was a great part of her and my life. Cozy the Middle Schooler has all kinds of new joys to offer. Yeah, I want her to get off her phone and clean up her room (That’s another conflicting conflict to explore), but there is so much for me and this kid to learn about each other. Me at 11 was on my bike, her a 11 is on TikTok. We’re different people in different times. Me at 11 was obsessed with Watergate and my first trip to Washington, DC. Cozy is more than aware that Trump is threatening her country and her city, in particular, but she distances herself because her father is so invested in it, often asking why I spend so much time on the protest front line.
So the music connects us. The night she was born, I held her in my arms and sang, “Yellow Submarine.” I can imagine myself on my deathbed with her singing me some K-Pop tune from the 2020s. I asked her yesterday, “What do you think the music of 2075 will sound like, because you’ll be there?” She said, “Like robots.” I said, “That’s what I said 50 years ago.” We’re both right.
This year has definitely had a musical theme. It was the year when Cozy and I became consumed with all things Taylor Swift. I dove into her back catalog and Cozy bonded with her 5th grade Swiftie crew, and begged me to buy every Taylor magazine on the newsstand (I didn’t). There were plenty of highlights, including April 19, when Taylor’s new album, The Tortured Poets Department, dropped. Cozy and I listened to the stream (Well, streams. Turns out it was a surprise double album.) And then went to the record store to get a vinyl copy, quickly reviewing it on my YouTube channel. The peak was December 6, when we got to see Taylor herself at one of her final Eras Tour concerts in Vancouver, BC. We’re both still buzzing from that one.
Other than Tay Tay, I didn’t go to many concerts in 2024 as my social life was mostly homebound. I did see lots of jazz and funk shows in great Portland bars like the Goodfoot, the Alberta Street Pub, and the Keys Lounge. Two of my favorite concerts were seeing old friend Billy Bragg and old boss Kevn Kinney, both at the Revolution Hall (and I got to perform with Kevn). I have tickets to see Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds in May, so maybe there will be more live music in 2025, if we’re allowed out past the Trump curfews.
It was a really a year of Top 40 radio as Cozy and I kept Z100 on in the car, listening to Taylor, Sabrina Carpenter, and Chappell Roan (and that damn Hozier song). My mom did the same thing when I was 10, burning the Hits of ’74 into my forever brain. But when a song came on the Cozy didn’t like, she’d change the station to KMHD, the jazz channel. Because she’s my kid.
There was so much great music to listen to in 2024, including some great old stuff. I got a lot better about posting videos on Vinyl Fetish, my YouTube channel, especially my running feature, 100 Albums that Matter. That got me diving into some old favorites for repeat listens. Working through Rolling Stones’ 500 Greatest Albums of all Time list also provided great listens to old and new favorites (and endless opportunities to explain to my students what life was like before Spotify).
There was plenty of vinyl, mostly bought in second hand shops. My favorite re-issue was the newly remixed release of John Lennon’s 1973 album Mind Games, which I’ve always thought was poorly mastered.
Deciding the ranking of my favorite albums was not easy. I played the new Ace Frehley album way too much (until he came out for Trump). The expansive Transa collection brought attention to the joy and pain of the trans community and gave us a glorious new Sade song. I could not stop playing new albums by the Cure, Father John Misty, and Nick Cave. It was a great year to be a Radiohead fan with a Thom Yorke solo album and two releases from The Smile (Wall of Eyes being the better). Waxahatchee’s Tigers Blood and Jack White’s No Name shocked me, they were so good and St. Vincent released the PJ Harvey album I’ve been waiting for.
But one album grabbed me out of the gate and would not let go: Country Carter by Beyoncé. I don’t know if it’s a country album or not (but I got a kick out of white people proclaiming it most certainly wasn’t). That debate paled in comparison to draw of the music itself, touched by Willie, Dolly, Beatle magic, and the brilliant Rhiannon Giddens (who has firmly planted the BLM flag in country music). “Texas Hold ‘Em” was classic Bay but also completely new, but my favorite track was “Bodyguard,” where Mrs. Carter also lays claim to 90’s alt rock. Every time I listen to it, I discover something new. It might end up being my favorite album of 2025 as well.
So here’s my 20 favorite albums of a year that went to shit. Let’s hope 2025 produces the angriest punk rock since Thatcher and Reagan were elected.
Beyonce – Cowboy Carter
Father John Misty – Mahashmashana
Nick Cave – Wild God
Waxahatchee – Tigers Blood
Various Artists – Transa
The Cure – Songs of a Lost World
Taylor Swift – The Tortured Poets Society
Jack White – No Name
John Lennon – Mind Games (The Ultimate Collection)
The Smile – Wall of Eyes
Kim Deal – Nobody Loves You More
Charles Lloyd – The Sky Will Still Be There Tomorrow
Pylon Reenactment Society – Magnet Factory
Dandy Warhols – Rockmaker
Paul Weller – 66
Rosie Tucker – Utopia Now!
St. Vincent – All Born Screaming
Ace Frehley – 10,000 Volts
Miranda Lambert – Postcards from Texas
Gary Clark, Jr. – JPEG Raw
Spotify playlist of songs from the Top 20 albums: CLICK HERE
There are a lot of responsibilities of a parent. We need to keep our kids safe and provide the skills so they’ll be successful as adults. We need to wrap them in love and make sure they have three meals a day. But sometimes, we gotta make a dream or two come true to show there is still magic in the world.
At some point in the last year, Cozy’s obsession switched from the Animal Crossing video game to Taylor Swift. It corresponded with me also becoming a fan as I started talking about her music on my YouTube channel. We got to develop this thing together. When the concert film, Taylor Swift: The Eras Tour, came out October of 2023, neither of us were that interested in seeing it. Then, seeing the actual Eras Tour became the mandate. Swiftmania had come to our home.
For me, as a music fan, it was coming to appreciate the incredible talent of her songwriting and the unique production of each album. For Cozy, it’s also about her connection to her friends, the fifth grade Swiftie crew. The old teeny-bopper culture of the bedroom has gone from the days of dreams of male stars, and the dream to marry them, to a 21st century connection to a female artist who empowers girls and women with empathy and strength. No wonder fragile men hate Taylor Swift.
So the hunt for tickets was on. We had a place to stay if I could score some tickets to one of the London shows. The tickets for the Warsaw show were the cheapest. I entered every contest I could, including buying lots of raffle tickets. I’m from the days of $12.00 concert tickets so the thought of paying more than a hundred times that for a show was beyond me, but the kid wanted to go. And so did I. We renewed Cozy’s passport just in case we got tickets to one of the more affordable shows in Europe. We didn’t.
The tour, that began in Glendale, Arizona, on March 17, 2023, was set to end not too far up the road from us in Vancouver, BC. A few weeks ago, Cozy was in tears realizing her dream to see Taylor was winding down. Then she woke up one day and said, “Can we try a fundraiser?” So we recorded a video and sent it in to Kickstarter right before Thanksgiving but it never got approved to launch. So, in a last minute appeal, I asked fans of Cozy to Venmo support for this mission to get the kid to the Eras tour. We scored a couple of semi-obstructed view tickets on StubHub for the Friday show for only $999 each with a $700 service charge. (I hope the CEO of StubHub is laying low.)
With the tickets on my phone (and some sustaining donations from Cozy’s mom and some great friends), we headed north to Canada. The highway was jammed up with Swifties. At one point, north of Seattle, Cozy and a car full of girls tossed friendship bracelets to each other as we headed for the border. I’m guessing there are a ton of the famous bracelets on I-5 that didn’t make their target. The Canadian customs guy laughed when he saw our car, covered in graffiti, including writing on the driver’s side that said, “Broke Swiftie Dad” with my Venmo handle.
Once inside the BC Place Arena in Vancouver, the excitement was leaping off the walls. I was a year younger than Cozy when my parents took me to see Elvis Presley, so I wanted her to remember every second and just breathe the whole thing in. She was busy trading bracelets while I checked out all the subcultural fashion. (My favorite was a T-shirt with a picture of Jake Gyllenhaal’s face, the inspiration for the epic “All Too Well” song, with a red cross over it.). Cozy was in her “22” outfit, hoping she would be selected out of the 60,000 in attendance to receive the coveted “22 hat” from Taylor herself. But there we no mistaking that we were in the middle of a cultural phenomenon, about to be in the room with the biggest pop star on the planet.
After a pleasant set from Taylor’s buddy Gracie Abrams (daughter of JJ Abrams), the countdown clock struck zero, the lights dropped and our special concert wristbands started flashing. Happy Eras! It was wonderfully deafening. Like the Beatles times a thousand (dollars). I recorded Cozy as Taylor appeared mid-stage to launch into the Lover Era portion of the show. She screamed and didn’t stop screaming for three hours. It was blissful. Dad mission accomplished.
The show itself was incredible. I got to hear all my favorite songs, including “Cardigan” and “Midnight Rain.” Her acoustic set, different each night, included “Never Grow Up,” which always reminds me of Cozy. But the zeitgeist of the night was the first bridge to “Cruel Summer,” where we all sang at the top of lungs with the women herself. “I’m drunk in the back of the car…” They were filming the concert so if there’s an Eras Tour 2 movie coming out, you may see Cozy and I singing our hearts out.
Cozy didn’t get the 22 hat but during that song she’s convinced that Taylor waved at her up on row XX in the upper level of the arena. I’m sure she did. Every moment of the concert was brilliant, from “Miss Americana” to “Karma.” After three and half hours, I didn’t want it to end. Swift put on a brilliant show, singing a thousand songs, dancing her ass off, and making everyone of the 60,000 in attendance feel like they were sharing a personal moment with her. I’ve got a pretty good resume of concerts over the years (I was at Live Aid, for godssake), and this was one of the most incredible things I’ve ever experienced, both musically and culturally.
We made are way back across the border after the show and got a hotel in Bellingham, Washington, and drove home yesterday in the pouring rain. We made it back to Portland in time for Cozy to get to the birthday party of her Swiftie bestie who had a house full of girls waiting to hear from a friend who had actually been to the Eras Tour. When Cozy knocked on the door, you could hear the screaming down the block. She came bearing friendship bracelets for everyone.
Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour ends tonight in Vancouver, after 149 shows on five continents. It is the largest grossing tour of all time and has shaped culture and economies around the globe. Astronauts have reported being able to see the concerts from space and geologists have claimed the crowds have caused the earth to vibrate. All that is true but I know for one 10-year-old girl it was simply about the moment Taylor Swift waved at her that caused time itself to stop. And (with a little help from my friends) I got to be the one who made that moment happen.
If I was my current age in 1964, as Beatlemania swept America, I would have absolutely hated the Fab Four. I would have been a 60-year-old jazz purist, dedicated to be-bop, hard-bop, and post-pop. I wouldn’t have had time for West Coast bop (sorry Brubeck), let alone mop top non-bop. I would have taken one look at the grinning lads from Liverpool, surrounded by millions of screaming girls, while they did their white people version of the Isley Brothers’ “Twist and Shout,” and turned up my nose. “That’s pre-packaged bubblegum. I listen to serious music, like Miles and Trane,” I would have said.
Turns out those millions of teenage girls were right.
I’m not making that mistake 60 years later. I am fully in the grip of Swiftmania and I have my 9-year-old daughter to thank for it.
I’m deep in the bag for TS. The haters are the people who knee-jerk react to the trope that “Popular = Bad.” After all, the masses are asses, as L7 sang. Anything as massive as Taylor Swift must suck. That’s the same thing they said about the Beatles in 1964, who clogged up the pop charts with their “Yeah, yeah, yeahs!” But here’s the thing. You can dig L7 (and the Yeah! Yeah! Yeahs! and Miles and Coltrane) AND Taylor Swift. Tay is on my playlists next to punk bands like Destiny Bond and jazz freaks like Sun Ra. I’m not going to let your hipster elitism deny me the appreciation of this crazy trip, especially when it is being led by my Swiftie 4th grader.
Like a lot of people, I drug my heals on the Taylor Train. I prefer Tuareg music from Mali over the American Top 40. But her 2022 lofi dream pop album, Midnights, caught my attention. It took me to some unexpected places that I missed from my youth (like the sound of the wind down at 3 am). But it was when Cozy, my always enthusiastic about something daughter, switched her attention from the Animal Crossing video game to Taylor Swift that I bought my ticket onboard the Swift Express.
Cozy’s cohort followed mine in many ways. In third grade, it was all about the songs. “Cruel Summer,” always got a, “Turn it up, Dad” in the car. (For me it was “Burning Love,” by Elvis Presley.) Fourth grade is more about the artist. Cozy’s girl gang has lots of Taylor Talk before, during, and after school. (By the end of 4th grade, I’d seen most of Elvis’ 33 movies.) The Eras tour sweatshirts are like their team jerseys. Cozy makes song bracelets in hopes that one day she’ll be able to trade them at an actual concert. She’s made her bedroom into a shrine to Taylor with taped up magazine pictures and a rotating “Top 13” favorite song list. (13 is a magical number in Taylor-world.) At 13, my room was split between shrines to Kiss and the Beatles. She falls asleep each night to the TS CD’s I’ve loaded into her mother’s ancient iMac computer. And I assume all her friends live in a similar Taylor bubble.
Cozy’s fanaticism is infectious. She knows every Swift lyric, including to the “Anthology” version songs on Swift’s new album. She knows the outfits of the Eras tour including the “22 hat.” (I have no idea, but she tells me she’s going to show me a YouTube video that explains it.) When the new album, The Tortured Poets Department, dropped at 9 pm on April 18th, we sat together as it streamed into our lives. The next day we raced to the record store to pick up a vinyl copy and record a review for my YouTube channel. That night, her crew had a Swiftie listening party where all the girls dressed as a different era. Thanks to her mom’s make-up skills, Cozy nailed the Reputation look. I don’t know what would be the 1964 version of that, but I’d like to think 4th grade Randy (Ringo’s Version) would have most certainly been combing his hair forward.
It might be different if this was 1997 and I had a nine-year-old who was gaga over the Backstreet Boys. Taylor Swift is an insanely talented artist. Like Paul McCartney, she could sneeze and a brilliant song would come out. Like Bob Dylan, she can take the story of her life, slam words together, and create poetry that we will be analyzing for generations. If you don’t believe me, listen to Dylan’s 1975 track, “Tangled Up in Blue,” written after his separation from his wife Sara, and then the ten minute version of Swift’s “All Too Well,” written after her break up with Jake Gyllenhaal, and tell me they don’t fit together like two socks in a drawer. But because Swift is a young woman (and blonde and thin) her artistry is dismissed. There are plenty of music lovers who extol Joni Mitchell in 2024, who also derided her in 1970 for trying to “be Dylan.” I don’t know what will be seen as “classic” in 2074, but, if there is radio 50 years from now, “Cruel Summer” and the dozens of other Swift hits will be playing to welcoming ears of Gen Z elders and their mutant children.
The mission now is to get Cozy to a Taylor Swift concert. Taylor is playing at Wembley Stadium in London (where I saw Live Aid in 1985) on Cozy’s birthday on August 17th. The cheapest, behind the stage, tickets start at $1200. Tickets to see the Beatles in 1964 were five bucks. For the price of one Taylor Swift ticket I could have bought 240 Beatle tickets. (Yes, I did the math.) I’ve entered contests, bugged friends in London, and watched StubHub like a lunatic. I want Cozy to have this experience. She even described seeing Taylor in concert with her mom and dad as her “perfect day” in a recent family therapy session. When I was her age, my parents took me to see Elvis Presley and it turned me inside out. So, somehow, this will happen.
All this is just a truckload of fun. It’s as much about Cozy’s joy as it is about the wonderful music that Taylor Swift makes. Yes, some of those songs make me cry (“All You Had to Do Was Stay” was written about my own break up, I’m convinced). But I’ll remember (all too well) dancing in the kitchen with my kid to “Shake it Off” and re-discovering the way music can completely consume you. I have my Beatlemania thanks to Cozy. And I’m screaming my lungs out.
I had a dream I turned on the classic rock radio station and heard a song I never heard before. I woke up thinking how boring nostalgia was. As much as I love a good Steve Miller Band single from 50 years ago, there has to be something more to life. Thanks to my 9-year old Swiftie daughter, the car radio is now locked into the Top 40 station. Z100! I know Steve Miller and his Jet Airliner are still there, but we’re in a droptop ride with SZA today.
I’ve now entered the age where I’m surrounded by peers, Baby Boomers and increasingly crotchety Gen Xers, complaining about “kids today” and how much better things were back in the day, music and values and the price of gas. It’s endlessly annoying. Just because Van Halen made “totally awesome” music in 1980, doesn’t mean there aren’t a ton of bands making great music now. (I’m writing this as I’m playing the new Bleachers record.) But I’m regularly being beaten over the head by Grumpy Old Men who don’t think any music released this century is worth a damn. They desperately want the world be like it was when they were young and you could ride in the back of a pick-up truck to the drive-in.
Let’s first deal with three important facts.
FACT 1: I love when I read old timers complain that youth today have no morals or respect or blah, blah, blah. They forget that their parents’ generation said the same thing about them. Kids have never had any goddamn respect. Socrates, over 2400 years ago said much the same thing. “The children now love luxury; they have bad manners, contempt for authority; they show disrespect for elders and love chatter in place of exercise. Children are now tyrants, not the servants of their households. They no longer rise when elders enter the room. They contradict their parents, chatter before company, gobble up dainties at the table, cross their legs, and tyrannize their teachers.” They might be assholes half the time, but the kids are alright.
FACT 2: Rock and roll was created in the 1950s for one specific reason, to annoy your parents. The noise of youth creates space for young people separate themselves from adult society. Adults thought Elvis was noise in the 1950s, with his gyrating hips and “negro intonations.” Every year kids have had something to push their parents back, including Hendrix (1960s), Kiss (1970s), Run DMC (1980s), Nirvana (1990s), Eminem (2000s), Beyoncé (2010s), and Doja Cat (now). I remember my father endlessly perplexed at why I preferred Led Zeppelin to Ricky Nelson. “That’s not music,” was the constant refrain. “I hope I die before I get old,” I’d reply. I remember elders thinking Van Halen was absolute garbage when they came out. (I saw them get booed when they opened for Black Sabbath in 1978.) Now grandma and grandpa are in a heated Sammy Hagar versus David Lee Roth debate.
FACT 3: The past always looks great through the rear view mirror, but the past was always a mixed bag. Yeah, it was fun to ride around in the back of a pick-up truck, but a bunch of kids fell out and died. Yeah, there were some great songs back then but there were some super shitty ones, too. Does anyone really miss “Disco Duck”? Yeah, it was fun to play in the streets with your pals, but often you were playing “Smear the Queer.” Whenever someone waxes on and on about the dreamlike good old days, I flash to me holding the TV antenna in just the right position so I could watch the Watergate hearings on one of the three channels we got, while also trying to manage the horizontal hold. I’ll take my Roku, thank you.
Nostalgia was originally defined as a sickness in the 1680s to describe Swiss mercenaries who couldn’t fight because the longed for home. During the American Civil War, nostalgia was seen as a problematic form a depression, melancholia to be cured so the soldiers could wage war. It’s root as a mental disability is not lost on the lives of those suffering from Alzheimer’s disease, endlessly caught in loops of their past, unable to engage in the present world in a meaningful way. “If I could just go back to when I was happy.” Odds are you weren’t as happy as you imagine.
There’s a dangerous political aspect to all this hyper-nostalgia, this over romanticizing of the past. It’s the impetus behind all forms of fascism, from Hitler’s mythologizing of Germany’s past or Trump’s Make America Great Again movement. For Trump’s crowd it’s the belief that America was great BEFORE all the various civil rights movements upset the “natural” authority of straight white cis-gender men. The America before pronouns, diversity trainings, and black lives mattering. Make America Jim Crow Again. It’s not surprising that Trump has leaned heavily on 20th century music artists to take his MAGA crowd back to the GOD (Good Old Days). It’s encouraging that dozens of these artists (or their estates) have petitioned Trump to stop using their music, including Aerosmith, The Beatles, Bruce Springsteen, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Eddy Grant, Elton John, the Village People (!), Everlast, Guns N Roses, Isaac Hayes, The Smiths, Leonard Cohen, Linkin Park, Neil Young, Ozzy Osbourne, Phil Collins, Prince, Queen, R.E.M., The Rolling Stones, Tom Petty, and even Nickelback. Just this week, the estate of Sinead O’Connor asked Trump to stop using her version of “Nothing Compares to You.” Fascism requires nostalgia but they are not doing it with Nickelback!
Two Important Points
Number 1: I get nostalgia. When we are young, and the world is in front us, every new experience is massively vibrant, the first kiss, the first time listening to Dark Side of the Moon. Those experiences and their soundtrack are woven into our very construction, like the iron beams that hold up the Empire State Building. Sitting in a smoke field movie theater watching The Empire Strike Back or falling to sleep to Steely Dan on the FM headphones has been fused into our DNA. As we age, and more of our life is behind us instead of in front of us, we start to lean on those iron beams. The Empire State Building, built 93 years ago, might not be here 93 years from now (2117), but it will always remind us of a specific moment in history that was both “great” and horrible.
I can get caught up in nostalgia, just like everyone else. I currently have 955 public playlists on Spotify, most mining the music of my youth. (Playlist #956 is going to be songs from albums released in March 1974, starting with Grand Funk’s “Locomotion.”) If I have any actual hobbies, it’s collecting vinyl LPs and anything related to the Beatles. And I would trade my eye teeth to get behind the wheel of my first car, a ’73 Gran Torino, again. But that brings me to Point #2.
Number 2: Nostalgia can block out our ability to be present in the present. We’re so focused on the past and making America “that” again, we miss out on the wonderful stuff right in front of us. I will never stop listening to Top 40 radio and looking for new bands to obsess over. (Currently, it’s Blood Command.) I love sharing my daughter’s love of all things Taylor Swift and discovering this music with her (Lover is our current favorite album, although I’m starting to get into folklore.) Listening to contemporary music connects me to the present moment, not when America Was Ricky Nelson. Even if for a moment, it liberates me from the endless nostalgia loop. And it’s inevitable that Taylor Swift will be on “oldies” rotation in 30 years and my kid will say, “When I was a kid, we had REAL music, like Dua Lipa. These kids today…” And so it goes.
So enjoy the past. There’s great wisdom in a Crosby, Stills, and Nash lyric and a Jimmy Carter foreign policy. Huey Lewis and Ronald Reagan don’t seem as horrid as they did 40 years ago. And some of our fond memories are shockingly marginalizing now. (If you can’t remember how racist, sexist, and homophobic we were, just watch any 80’s comedy film. Weird Science has not aged well.) But also plug into the present reality. The kids today have both the exact same issues we contended with and so much more. And their world is reflected in their culture, which should not be dismissed as our parents dismissed ours. Their soundtrack is worth a listen.
I don’t remember what Beatlemania was like. I was born in February 1964 as the mop tops from Britain invaded the U.S.. The footage of them on Ed Sullivan and the girls screaming is exhilarating. We now look at that month as the moment the 1960s started; when the black and white era of the Kennedy assassination became a technicolor explosion of youth counterculture. But not everyone loved the Beatles in 1964. Conservative columnist William F. Buckley, wrote in the Boston Globe, “The Beatles are not merely awful; I would consider it sacrilegious to say anything less than that they are god awful. They are so unbelievably horribly, so appallingly unmusical, so dogmatically insensitive to the magic of the art that they qualify as crowned heads of anti-music, even as the imposter popes went down in history as ‘anti-popes.’”
Buckley wasn’t alone. A chorus on the right proclaimed the Beatles as “communists” and encouragers of “race mixing.” They were framed as untalented puppets, designed to upset the American moral order with sex, drugs, and rock and roll. John Lennon, in a lengthy interview with a British columnist in 1966, briefly commented on the sad state of contemporary religion. “We’re more popular than Jesus now; I don’t know which will go first—rock ’n’ roll or Christianity,” he said. The comments were reported out of context in the United States and the backlash was fierce. Right-wing stalwarts, the Ku Klux Klan, organized boycotts of Beatles concerts and claimed Ringo was “a Jew.” Conservative southern radio stations held Beatle bonfires and there were numerous death threats against the band. The Beatles quit touring and retreated to the studio to find other ways to speak to the youth of the world.
I was just a baby for all that. I didn’t experience Beatlemania first hand. But I am experiencing Swiftmania and if feels like basically the same thing. If the Ku Klux Klan could burn Taylor Swift music streams, there would be bonfires across the nation.
First things first. This is not about Taylor Swift’s music. Old people always hate young people’s music. My dad thought AC/DC was not music and there a million people my age who think Taylor Swift’s music is also noise. I recently posted on a classic rock page that Swift will be my daughter’s Joni Mitchell, and some of the Boomers shit bricks. And then I posted the Buckley quote about the Beatles, and they just grunted. The word “crap music” was use repeatedly. OK, boomer. I did an episode on my YouTube channel about Swift’s 2023 Midnights album and how it as essential LP for any vinyl collectors collection. There is little doubt that Swift is immensely talented. This is not about that.
This is about gender and what happens when a woman is in control of her own life. Especially on Super Bowl Sunday. Taylor Swift has sold over 200 million records but I hear more about the existential threat she poses to America itself than the countless people to whom she brings joy. She’s got seven albums on the top 40 of Billboard’s album chart at the moment, but, apparently, she’s ruining football and America as we know it.
Susan Faludi, in her seminal 1991 book, Backlash: The Undeclared War Against American Women, gave us the roadmap for the conservative freakout about the girl from West Reading, Pennsylvania. Faludi argued that anytime in American history women gain power there is a patriarchal “backlash” to put them “back in their place.” One hundred years ago, women gained political power by winning the right to vote. The 1920s then generated flappers and housewives as the new feminine ideals, to push women away from using their collective voice at the ballot box. During WW II, women gained economic power as an army of Rosie the Riveters traded their dish rags in for blowtorches to build the weapons of war. And they had their own money to spend since their men were off on the battlefield. The end of the war brought back the demand that women return to the kitchen, or focus on the glamour like the new phalanx of blonde bombshells on the silver screen. Backlash #2. In the 1960s, women gained social power as the second wave feminist movement, again, worked to liberate them from domestic drudgery, as Mrs. John Doe flowered into Ms. Cindy Nobra. Faludi argued, in 1991, that the third backlash came in the form of the supermodel and the media message that women’s primary value is in their ability to attract men.
Faludi’s work was seen as helping to launch the third wave feminist movement of the 1990s and 2000s that culminated with the #MeToo movement in 2017. But by 2017, the fourth backlash was in full swing. There was never a greater movement to put women “back in their place” (and back into back alleys) than the rise of Donald J. Trump. I’ve reported here about my 2018 conversation with Gloria Steinem. When I asked Ms. Steinem how she explains the rise of Trump, she told me, “You know when a women is at most risk of being killed by her abuser is the moment she tries to escape him. When the battered wife tries to leave, that’s when he is his most violent. That’s where we are.” The way the MAGA movement has characterized the obese elderly Trump as a virile, chiseled, hyper-masculine macho man has become patriarchy’s ultimate weapon against women and their basic rights of self-determination.
Enter Taylor Swift.
Swift’s storied career, from her 2006 debut album to now (“Cruel Summer” is STILL on my radio in this cruel winter) has been a tale of wrestling control from men. Whether it’s songs dishing on ex-boyfriends who have done her wrong or fighting to reclaim her back catalog from Scooter Braun’s Big Machine record label, this has never been a woman who is going to shut up and just be pretty. She has, throughout for her career, stood up for the underserved. In 2015, when Apple was going to premier its new streaming music service with a three month free offer, they announced that artists would not receive any payment for their music being streamed during those three months. Taylor, who could afford the dip in income, saw how smaller artists were being ripped off and pulled all her music off the platform until Apple changed its policy. It did. Swift has donated millions to a wide variety of needs, including libraries, schools, flood, tornado, and hurricane relief, police departments, and victims of sexual assault. She’s paid off fans medical bills and student loans. Her philanthropy makes the “Christian charity” of her accusers look like pennies tossed in the church collection plate.
More than endorsing Joe Biden, it’s this persona of a woman in control of her life that triggers fragile conservative men most. Trump has said, defending his “Make America Great Again” slogan, America was last great in the 1950s, in the era of Father Knows Best, when women (and especially trans women) did not challenge the “natural” authority of men. (Make America Backlash 2 Again) Swift is not interested in going backwards in time to make men happy. In the most simplest of terms, Taylor Swift does not give a fuck. So American men are putting their wife beaters on and popping open a can of Bud Light (whoops, triggered by that beer) and getting ready to teach Taylor and all women like her a lesson. And they are manning up for Super Bowl Sunday, ready flex their atrophied muscles.
Let’s try to first extend a wee bit of empathy to these fragile men. The world has changed a lot since Trump says America was last great. Men are no longer the kings of their castles. Unlike in 1964, women can now have their own credit cards and punish sexual harassers. More women are going to college now than men (I see this in my classroom) and the workforce is now dominated by female labor. Unlike the days of Father Knows Best, now three fourths of women 25 to 54 are full time employees. Young women no longer marry the first man that asks them as a means to move out of their fathers’ houses. They do they same thing men do. They play the field and ditch the guys that don’t meet their needs (and sometimes write songs about them). In the 1950s, the average age for women’s first marriage was 20 (that’s average, so that means for every “spinster” that finally married at 30, two 15-year-old girls got married.) Now the average age for women’s first marriage is over 28. Swift is 34 and don’t expect her to “settle down” anytime soon. Her life is just getting started. (And let’s be 100% honest; Some of those young women in 1964 who bowed to social pressures to get married, weren’t interested men as romantic partners. Being out and gay now is another trigger for men who feel they are entitled to women and their bodies.)
So you can imagine manly men are feeling a little threatened. Their manly man world is fading in the rear view mirror of the the Kia Forte. Taylor Swift represents everything that wrong with their picture of how the world should look. And now she’s a fixture in the very last arena of the manosphere, the NFL. What’s a boy to do?
Fortunately for these fellas, the real manosphere, aka “society,” is dug in and fighting back, especially in a backlash. You don’t have to wade into the dark web as it vomits out deep fake nudes of Swift and endless discussions of the best methods to sexually assault her. It’s right there in the mainstream media, including among some women, like former Fox News host Megyn Kelly, who carry the water for the fragile men. (Kelly tried to organize a boycott of Swift for her support of relief work for children in Gaza. It failed miserably.) The conservative bashing of Swift has been, well, swift, including a bizarro conspiracy theory that Swift is a George Soros-funded Pentagon psyop operation to hand the Kansas City Chiefs the Super Bowl win (Isn’t San Fransisco the bastion of liberal politics?) and put Joe Biden back in the White House. Seriously.
The freak-out men are having about the “feminizing” of society is shaping the electorate as well. Recent research from Stanford University found that, while Gen Z women around the world are moving toward liberal positions, their male counterparts are moving to the right. Among the younger generation, there are really two cohorts, Gen Z women who are voting to regain their abortion rights and flocking to Taylor Swift concerts so big they can be seen from space, and Gen Z males who are tracking down fake nudes of Swift and trying rebuild their grandfather’s vision of gender roles, where the men where men and the women were REALLY good at making sandwiches. The fact that Swift has actively been registering these young women to vote must terrify these men, who are convinced this is the fall of the Roman Empire.
The Republican Party could embrace these young women, but as usual their party is the old man screaming at the kids to get off his lawn. Their fantasy of themselves as manly warriors will translate as more misogyny towards Swift, and towards women and girls in general. And there will be violence. Violence towards women who stand up for themselves and violence against other men as men signal that they are the volatile sex, so beware. But women, like Taylor, will shake it off and work to fix men’s mistakes, just like they always have.
As the father of a daughter who is growing up with the music Taylor Swift on the radio (Hearing Cozy riff the lyrics to “Cruel Summer” in the back of the car is pure bliss), I’m glad this pop singer is driving a massive wedge into the fading world of manly men. My daughter’s world will embrace her in a way my mother’s world never could. Like Madonna 40 years earlier, Swift will lead the charge against this generation’s backlash. “I’m so sick of running as fast as I can, wondering if I’d get there quicker if I was a man,” as she sings in “The Man.” My daughter’s future will have more space for her as a human being because of Taylor Swift, Beyoncé, Lady Gaga, Kesha, Lizzo, Cardi B, and all the other women on the charts who are doing this pop music thing by their own rules. But there are a lot of terrified boys and men to win over. Don’t fight this, boys. Mother is telling you it’s going to be OK. Enjoy the game.
Postscript: For all the women who don’t have the wealth or white privilege of Taylor Swift, but are in the trenches day in and day out working for gender equity without a subculture of fans to protect them, let’s lift them up in our songs, too.
2023 A.D. will always be the first (and only?) year that my daughter saw new releases from the Beatles and the Stones in the same year. The thrill of taking her to the record store to get the new Rolling Stones album and ask for the “new single by the Beatles” created great memories for both of us. Obviously, for us Beatle freaks, the release of “Now and Then” in November was the musical highlight of the year. Cozy proclaimed it her “favorite song of all time” and I devoted an episode of my YouTube channel to it. I’ll never forget first hearing John’s AI cleaned up voice singing, “I know it’s true.” Chills to have the Fab Four together one last time.
There wasn’t a massive concert binge this year. The highlights were taking Cozy and her friend to see Ringo Starr in Bend in June and the brilliant DakhaBrakha show at Revolution Hall in August. Most of the live music was enjoyed at small local Portland venues, like Mississippi Studios, No Fun, and Turn, Turn, Turn (which is sadly closing at the end of year). I am looking forward to shows at the new Doug Fir in 2024.
2023 was year I really utilized Spotify to do some deep dives. Long chronologies of Brian Eno and explorations of Ethiopian jazz, the thrill of having an ever expanding universe of music was like my teenage dream manifest. I used Spotify to make probably hundreds of playlists (I currently have 925 playlists on the platform) and even used it to DJ a loft party in the East Village in New York in February. Its ease of use certainly cut into my album purchases in 2023.
Most of my vinyl purchases (Did I even buy a CD in 23?) were old jazz sides from the numerous little record stores that keep popping up in my neighborhood. I did listen to a lot of albums, especially by Taylor Swift (Sorry, not sorry.) 2023 was the year I became a fan, especially of her brilliant 2022 release, Midnights. I finally got it. And it gave me a fun way to connect with my students, dropping TS lyrics in the middle of lectures. The album that dominated the year (and my car radio) was the Barbie soundtrack. It exploded into the music world much the way the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack did in 1977. Some of the hype of 2023, I just didn’t get. Boygenius I thought was a snooze fest. And, even though I’ve been massive fans in the past, releases by PJ Harvey, Yo La Tengo, and Sufjan Stevens didn’t catch my attention (but I did dig that one new Paramore song, “This is Why”).
So here is my annual Top 20. Not necessarily the 20 best releases of 2023, but the albums I spent a lot of time on and really lived in. At the top of the list is a Brooklyn band called Geese. Their album, 3D Country (released in June) was the most wide open (in the style of John Spencer Blues Explosion) and yet diverse album of the year. Their track, “I See Myself” wormed its way into my soul and I’m sure made it on to many mixtapes of young hipsters in love. Besides the Stones, some old favorites showed up, including Dolly Parton and her “rock” album (worth it for her environmental anthem, “World On Fire”) and Dexy’s Midnight Runners and their feminist manifesto, Feminine Divine.
Here we go.
Geese – 3D Country
Rolling Stones – Hackney Diamonds
The New Pornographers – Continue as a Guest
Olivia Rodrigo – Guts
The National – First Two Pages of Frankenstein
Taylor Swift – 1989 (Taylor’s Version)
Lana Del Rey – Did You Know That There’s a Tunnel Under Ocean Blvd
Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit – Weathervanes
John Cale – Mercy
Blur – The Ballad of Darren
Anohni (Antony & the Johnsons) – My Back Was a Bridge For You to Cross
Fred Again and Brian Eno – Secret Life
Dexys – Feminine Devine
Dolly Parton – Rockstar
Bob Dylan – Shadow Kingdom
The Kills – God Games
Quasi – Breaking the Balls of History
Ryuichi Sakamoto – 12
Black Thought – Glorious Game
Brad Mehldau – Your Mother Should Know: Brad Mehldau Plays The Beatles
Honorable mention for albums from Rhiannon Giddens, PIL, Rancid, The Zombies, Rufus Wainwright, Bad Bunny, and Metallica. I still need to listen to that new Wilco album. (And this week the ANOHNI album is my favorite.)
I’m not sure if there has been a musical theme this year. I’ve spent a lot of the year listening to Polish and Ukrainian music during and following my trip into the war zone. Replaying “Szal Niebieskich Cial” by Maanam in my Krakow hotel room, waiting for my ride to Auschwitz, or blasting “Бабушка” by the Russian rap artist L-Jane as we sped towards Lviv with the smoke from Russian rocket attacks in front us will always be powerful musical memories.
The best concert of the year was easily the DhakaBrakha show in Beaverton on September 30. The Ukrainian band enchanted us and compelled us to act. Their other-worldly sounds had Andi squeezing my arm and me in tears thinking of the people I left behind there. The images behind the quartet conveyed that this was more than just a concert. It was a desperate plea for global action. In Beaverton.
Like last year, I was devoted to making endless playlists on Spotify. This included 35 playlists for Andi while she was living in her apartment, with titles like, “Tied to the Whipping Post” and “So It’s Come to This, Barry Manilow.” Andi’s back home but we’re still not back together, so I will step up my playlist game in 2023.
As part of my Spotify playlist obsession, at the end of each month, I listened to at least one song of the 100 to 200 albums that were released that month (thanks to Wikipedia), making a playlist representing that month’s music. So I have quite literally listened to at least one song from each major release in 2022. That’s a lot of K-Pop and death metal. But it gave me a good overview of the year and lots of new discoveries, like Norway’s Blood Command. While I was looking for love lost songs, I found plenty of punk and metal albums that gave me the energy to swim forward.
So here is my annual “Top 20” list. Maybe not the twenty best albums, but the albums I enjoyed the most this year. The top three reflect the diversity on the list. Wet Leg’s debut album brought me back to the clever wordplay that I loved in 80s new wave music. The Smile’s A Light for Attraction Attention is essentially a Radiohead album and it transported me the to the ambient beep bop boop that helped be drift off on those endlessly lonely nights. At the top of the pile is the New Jersey punk band, Titus Andronicus. Their sweeping opus, The Will to Live, was joyous, earnest, and empowering. I played “I’m Screwed” a thousand times, always at full volume. It’s exactly what I needed to survive 2022.
The rest of the list has some old friends, like Harry Styles and Miranda Lambert, and releases I just lost myself in, like Soli’s beautiful tribute to Miriam Makeba. Giles Martin’s remix of The Beatles’ Revolver was orgasmic, especially when experienced with a gummy or two. I’m sure 2023 will have some favorite artists I don’t yet know exist. No doubt I will be listening to more music with my daughter who will turn nine in nine months. But here’s my soundtrack this year that has been like no other.
1. Titus Andronicus – The Will to Live
2. The Smile – A Light for Attraction Attention
3. Wet Leg – Wet Leg
4. Blood Command – Praise Armageddonism
5. Harry Styles – Harry’s House
6. The Linda Lindas – Growing Up
7. Somi – Zenzile: The Reimagination of Miriam Makeba
8. The Beatles – Revolver Super Deluxe Edition
9. Adrian Quesada – Jaguar Sound
10. Todd Rundgren – Down with the Ship
11. Viagra Boys – Cave World
12. Rosalía – Motomami
13. Natalia Lafourcade – De Todas las Flores
14. Drive-By-Truckers – Welcome to Club XIII
15. Miranda Labert – Palomino
16. Bebehoven – Light Moving Time
17. Big Thief – Dragon New Warm Mountain I Believe In You
18. Beyoncé – Renaissance
19. Father John Misty – Chloe and the Next 20th Century
20. Various Artists – Elvis (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)
One of my guilty pandemic pleasures (besides watching 90 Day Fiancé) has been making playlists on Spotify. I’ve made playlists that chart Prince’s album chronology and playlists loaded with songs about denim (“Forever in Blue Jeans”). I started doing month-based playlists, beginning with cuts from albums released in January, 1973. I was traipsing through 1979, month-by-month, reliving all the LPs I bought, borrowed or stole in my 15th year on earth. My top three favorite bands that year were, in order, The Who, Blondie, and The Police. It was the year of new wave.
It was also another year of disco.
While 1979 gave us The Cars, Gary Numan, and Nick Lowe, the radio was still dominated by dance tracks by Chic, the Bee Gees, and Donna Summer. The summer radio of ’79 was an ongoing battle between “My Sharona” and “Ring My Bell.” I was deeply into my “Randy Ramone” phase by that point. Even though I camped out for tickets for the 1979 Kiss Dynasty tour, I had already sold my soul to punk rock. But whether you were a mod or a rocker, a Clash fan and/or a Ted Nugent fan, all guitar disciples could agree on one thing, disco sucked.
In 1979, I sported a t-shirt that said, “Disco is Dead, Rock is Rolling” that I ordered from the back of Rolling Stone magazine. I was full of theories about how musicians were losing gigs because clubs were hiring DJs instead of bands (even though I wouldn’t get my fake ID until 1980). I graffitied “Disco Sucks” on the bathroom stalls at Redan High School and dreamed of burning copies of Saturday Night Fever.
I wasn’t the only kid hating on disco in 1979. Chicago rock radio station WLUP organized a “Disco Demolition Night” between games at a White Sox doubleheader. Over 50,000 rock fans showed up with their kid sisters’ Sister Sledge albums. The plan was to blow up the albums on the field. The explosion caused a riot as the rock fans stormed the field and proceeded to destroy the stadium, forcing the White Sox to forfeit the cancelled game to the Detroit Tigers. I had heard about it next day and thought it was a glorious blow against the disco empire.
Looking back on that era from over 40 years later, there certainly was some super crappy music (Who let Elton John make a disco album?). There was also some crappy punk and metal and “arena rock” records. But a lot of those disco tracks are now on replay, like “Get Up to Get Down” by Brass Construction. I’ve even warmed up to 70s-era Bee Gees. It wasn’t the cock rock of Van Halen, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t sexy. But the hatred of disco was vicious. The Chicago riot was just part of the disco backlash. Was this a just a fanatical devotion to “any guitar and any bass drum,” as The Jam sang, or something else?
I don’t doubt there was some real imbedded racism in the “Disco sucks” trend. Disco had its roots in black and Latin dance clubs in New York. Soul music became R&B, then became the most banal disco. Somehow Barry White went from make-out music to the Hustle, with actual dance steps. Early Saturday afternoons in 1979 spotlighted white couples on American Bandstand who were trying to mimic the steps of the black couples dancing on Soul Train later in the afternoon. White rock fans in ’79 could dig Jimi Hendrix, Bob Marley and Led Zeppelin channeling ancient blues cats, but somehow Chic’s “Le Freak” was too much. Dance music was about black and brown bodies moving in choreographed synchronicity while individualistic white bodies were either head banging or slam dancing.
But there was black music that was off limits to the anti-disco hate in 1979. Michael Jackson’s Off the Wall LP, with it’s Quincy Jones horns workin’ day and night, was dynamic in the way that rock sought to blow your head off. Prince’s debut single, “I Wanna Be You Lover” was so provocative, it was punk. (I’ll never forget his performance on American Bandstand, sporting a very small tiger print Speedo and thinking the 70s were officially dead.) And there was this weird hippity hop music coming out of the Bronx. But rock fans would still rather blast AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell” then sort out what “Rapper’s Delight” was all about.
There was also a healthy dose of homophobia reflected in disco hate. After all, those dance clubs in NYC that birthed the coked up disco scene were mostly gay clubs. Few things seemed gayer in 1979 than the Village People and dancing with your hands in the air. Real men kept their hands at waste level to play air guitar to Aerosmith. Working class boys, terrified of revealing any feminine attributes, were required to bash anything that wasn’t macho macho, man.
But there was plenty of gender-nonconforming in rock in 1979, from David Bowie (“Boys Keep Swinging”) to Queen’s Freddie Mercury (“Don’t Stop Me Now”). The B-52’s “Rock Lobster” was a big ol’ southern gay dance party and Lou Reed was femming as Patti Smith was butching. The rednecks in my high school would harass me for liking “that fag music from England” (usually referring to Devo, who were from Ohio) which gave me the privilege of being gay-bashed without actually being gay. I was bonded the mythical urban queer (I imagined him/her walking into CBGB’s while “Walk on the Wild Side” played), but I still hated disco.
Best I can figure is the Disco Sucks crusade was an example of intersectionality. Both black and gay were devalued in 1979, but tolerated. Everyone was convinced Bowie was “queer” but Freddie Mercury was “straight” (figure that one out). But they knew how to rock. Bands with black members, like Thin Lizzy, Mother’s Finest, and the Doobie Brothers cranked the guitars above the bass. Black or gay could find a place in white boy culture. Black and gay could not. Disco was black and gay and that was a bridge too far. Play that funky queer music white boy. Or bash it.
The hatred was all contextual. Rock acts were allowed to release disco-ish records. (Kiss’ “I Was Made for Loving You,” Blondie’s “Heart of Glass,” Wings’ “Goodnight Tonight,” The Kinks “Superman,” and Rod Stewart’s “Do You Think I’m Sexy?” to name a few.) But if the act had any connection to the dance club scene (think Alicia Bridges’ “I Love the Night Life”) it was deemed “disco” and must be blown up at a baseball stadium. Disco sucks wasn’t really about the intersection of black and gay, it was the intersection of racism and homophobia.
I’ve missed out on a lot of great music because of learned bigotries. (Why didn’t anyone tell me that Mariachi music was 100% brilliant?) The 15-year-old me would have been musically richer and ethically deeper if I had been open to disco in 1979. It was a time of discovery but somehow small town culture stopped me. Two years later (at 17), I would be hanging out in Atlanta gay bars with the other misfit punk refugees from suburbia, but in 1979, anything without a power chord was a threat to my forming masculinity.
It’s been fun discovering these songs over the years. A lot of it is the worst culture human civilization has ever produced (Humanity should have cancelled for “Disco Duck” alone), but much of it is a joyous release. (Currently playing, “Beat of the Night” (1979) by Fever.) It didn’t all suck. Racism and homophobia suck. Shaking your groove thing will set you free.