Memory Lane

Milo hit me with a blast from the past last night. (sorry)

Remember that one?  I do.  1995, I was 12 years old, year 8 at school.  There were three albums you had to have if you ever wanted to be considered part of the crowd: Pulp’s Different Class, Blur’s the Great Escape, and Oasis’ (What’s the Story) Morning Glory.  And yeah, they were good.  You could even go as far as to say they were 90s classics.  It was cool to like Nirvana, Cypress Hill, but if you didn’t have those albums you’d be a nobody.  I was lucky, I had them: if I hadn’t I’d have been even worse off than I was.

Times changed, boy bands became the thing you should be into, Britney came along, and Billie, and Christina.  It was never really cool to like them, but most people did.  I branched off at that point to music that would never be considered mainstream.  I had friends that would never be considered cool either, more like rough and not to be messed with, the misfits. 

By college my music taste had found it’s niche in female angst: Fiona Apple, Sarah McLachlan, Amanda Ghost.  To be in you had to be part of the popular crowd, and I never was.  But it didn’t bother me.  My friends by then were the people I wanted to be with, not the people I should.

And now things have come around again.  I like those girl bands; the Saturdays, Girls Aloud, the Pussycat Dolls.  The difference now is I don’t feel the need to be cool, to be popular or into the right things.  People think it’s cool that at 25 I’ve been married for close to five years and have a 4 year old boy at home, that despite my apparent youth I’ve got the years of someone much older in my head.  And that, to me, is worth more than anything.