Music doesn’t move me much anymore. I just don’t listen to a lot of it. In fact, my kids weren’t born yet the last time I found myself truly infatuated with a band or musician. When I do, though, I prefer real instruments. I want guitars and drums, a noticeable talent, I don’t want auto-tune. An overwhelming number of recent artists, however, all sound like prepackaged pop from the same factory. It was so much better back in my day.
That’s right, I’m old.
Give me some classic rock, though, and I can sing right along.
We were watching television when a background song came on. “That’s Ozzy Osbourne”, he told me. He’s a big fan of Ozzy, with partial thanks to Iron Man. Except this time, it clearly wasn’t Ozzy.
“No, that’s Kiss”, I corrected.
“No, Kiss is not a name”, he stood firm. Like duh, mom. “It’s Ozzy Osbourne.”
“Fine, if you want to be specific, it’s Paul Stanley and Gene Simmons from the band Kiss singing Rock ‘n Roll All Night,” and zing. Don’t question mama and her rock music. I even looked a video up on YouTube to show him the band in all their makeup, singing the tune live. Surely there’s no room for argument anymore.
I forgot that he has inherited a steadfast bullheadedness. He walked away from the computer without taking in 10 seconds. “Nope, that’s not it. It’s Ozzy.”
But at least we’re not arguing over Justin Bieber.