This Is Not a Love Song

Nostalgia has my ass in a sling lately, and because of that I'm forced to remember something I said several years ago. Looking over a crowd as I watched post-Sex Pistols fans attempt to dance while PiL performed live, I said, "Kill me if I'm still hanging out in rock clubs when I'm 30." I was 22.

Of course I had no idea that I was hurtling toward a career spent hanging out in rock clubs. And as the years roll by, the shortsighted snobbishness of that remark has kept me from pounding newer critics into the ground when I hear variations of that remark. Then someone voiced the opinion that it's impossible to become nostalgic until you reach your 30s, a notion with which I now heartily agree (and don't think there aren't a few critics and musicians whose encroaching 30th birthdays I am DYING for, just so I can see how they handle the taste of crow). Still, that wasn't what was eating away at me.

Several days, hissy fits, and half-arguments later, I realized with horror that if it takes until 30 to become nostalgic (and by nostalgic I mean pining for something you experienced as it happened--I can't pine for the Beatles, because I was only two when Revolver came out), then maybe it takes until you're approaching 40 to become so tired of nostalgia that you find yourself feeling unhinged while screaming to blank, unsympathetic faces, "DO SOMETHING NEW, FOR GOD'S SAKE!"

What led me to this conclusion was the British press going apeshit over Kings of Leon. Every UK music publication I picked up at Bulldog made mention of the band, and it was finally Mojo that sparked an epiphany when it claimed that Kings of Leon was the band "dragging the Strokes Generation out of the garage and onto the porch." That was it. Must everyone between the ages of 20 and 30 be dragged to the next level of nostalgia? As rock 'n' roll nears 50 and trends of the past eight years or so have cycled rapidly through the '60s, '70s, '80s, and '90s (though not in that order!) I can't help but wonder what will happen next. I'm popping several veins over it, actually.

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Speaking of nostalgia (and hypocrisy on my part), I went to the Joy Division tribute night at the Sunset last Sunday and made a couple of discoveries. One: The Ballard club can pack it in on a school night if the bait is right. Two: Infomatik sweetheart Colin is an absolutely phenomenal drummer, adding extra vitality to show-ender "Transmission" with Black Nite Crash, who also did a great version of "Walked in Line."

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More geezer stuff: Because the Rendezvous was packed and at least 30 folks had to be turned away from the first multimedia tribute to XTC (with videos, rare concert footage, bands, and memorabilia), another one has been scheduled for August 22 at 8 pm. Admission is $3, and party favors include a "Making Plans for Nigel" board game, XTC sheet-music books, and Swindon maps.

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Oh, and I'd feel like an ass if I didn't reveal that the entire time I've been writing this installment of Some Candy Talking, I've been blasting godheadSilo's Skyward in Triumph. Headphones, of course. Believe it or not, it helps me concentrate like no other album can. I guess nostalgia still has my ass in a sling, but as Mike Kunka hollers during the awesome 15-minute "Guardians of the Threshold," "I'll be back to pick you up later!"

kathleen@thestranger.com