Teeny-boppers and fan boys: These dialectical opposites push pop ever forward into the next big thing. I started my music-loving life as one and have spent most of my career sparring with the other.
Geeky machismo defines musical hipsterism at its highest levels, and ever since I hauled my teeny-bopper heart into the fan boy arena, I've been torn between questioning it as a central value and trying to live up to it. What girl wouldn't want the secret knowledge the boys owned? But how could you access it? You couldn't even start if you didn't know the code.
Fan boys -- and I'd include some particularly determined and resilient girls in that group -- impress each other with the secret shows they've attended, the limited-edition vinyl they've collected, the mix tapes they bought on the street, the downloads they nabbed before the link went dead. It's all about getting there first and making good judgments, or at least falling in line with other cool kids' tastes.
I started writing professionally as a teen who'd barely moved past Andy Gibb toward the Clash; at 17, the whole concept of hipsterism freaked me out. Shopping for albums in Seattle's University District, I'd hand the clerk at the indie shop whatever new wave fluff I was buying that day, and I could see the edges of his mouth curling into a smirk.
My taste has broadened and deepened exponentially in many years of loving and writing about pop, but in my bones, I'll always be that new wave girl at the party who doesn't recognize the classic album her punk rock host just put on the stereo, and then asks if he has any Human League in his collection. And every year (especially since the Internet's Big Bang) there's been more music out there, fragmenting into more specialized scenes, easier to access but harder to sort out.
Over the years, I think, I've learned the difference between genuine grass-roots enthusiasm and hype generated by PR flacks and fashionistas. But I still can be mistrustful of those fan boys. When I was young, a genuine lack of knowledge often tripped me up; now, a lingering suspiciousness about what the cool kids like is more likely to cause me to miss something.
In pop, there's always a new chance to miss the boat. Reflecting this reality, here's a portrait of my life in shades of regret.
