WEEKEND READ: You’re All I’ve Got Tonight

Will there ever again be a widely loved band?

Howard Whitman as the late Ric Ocasek (You Might Think photo)

For years I have tormented my daughters with good music — meaning my music of course — whenever they were forced to be with me in the car. By that I mean songs that are from the ’60s to the ’90s, and the few contemporary tunes that sound as if they might be. They suffered in silence (except for the music itself) when they were small.

As the music of their own generation degenerated, I found myself cast as the middle-aged scold who disdains contemporary sounds. It’s not a good look but I embraced it. When it comes to these things, you go with your heart. (The wallet follows: I owned hundreds of CDs and thousands of streamed songs, and I loved them all and almost wished I could pay more, but none of that matters now. There is no player.)

I thought I was nearing a breakthrough when the radio played “Us and Them” from Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side of the Moon.” I recited for my youngest its lyrics, a lamentation of inequality as powerful now as ever it was, with a melody to match: Down and out / It can't be helped that there's a lot of it about / With, without / And who'll deny it's what the fighting's all about?

“This breathtaking song is from 50 years ago,” I said. “Just listen! Do you honestly think any of the new ‘music’ will be heard by anyone in 50 years’ time? Or even 5??”

I know that music is an infinity and there is some decent new material and that almost nothing can achieve scale today because there are a million platforms and massive atomization and no one can agree on anything. But it doesn’t change my view. This issue does not bring out the best in me, I fear.

My daughter agreed that nothing contemporary had staying power like Pink Floyd, but shockingly did not seem to care. It’s just fun and games for the new generation — just grist for the robo-world of Tiktok, with its jerky movements, distorted audio and idiotically pursed lips.

I began to suspect something pathological in my passion for my music. Was I a Classic Rock Supremacist? That cannot be good. World-weary skeptics say one always prefers the music of one’s youth, which would cheapen the passion. Maybe so, I reply, but it doesn’t make me wrong: a broken clock is still right twice a day. And I don’t see the passion for today’s music even in the youth; it’s more like indifferent acquiescence.

Is it all just a matter of natural cycles and of popular taste — or could my musical hubris be defended?