When the first crappy music makes it into our house, I will sit my kids down, play the entire Pink Floyd discography, then The Beatles, then Simon & Garfunkel. And Bjork. And Death Cab for Cutie. And Arcade Fire. Then The Velvet Underground. Then Talking Heads.
Why are teenagers listening to music that their parents were dancing to 25 years ago instead of rebelling against it? When I was 13, I may have had some knowledge of pop stars from a quarter century earlier, but I certainly didn't like any of their music.
No more aging D.J.'s to get all the grandparents from Miami and New York and The Los Angeles Valley to dance to the Village People's "YMCA," because the Village People will finally be allowed to get married, and in high style at that.
George Michael is telling me a strange story -- where he walks on stage before a billion people and privately panics, "I am becoming one of the biggest stars in the world -- and I think I might be a poof. This cannot end well."