At the risk of sounding like a grumpy old codger, I’m not thrilled with a lot of today’s popular music, so I decided to try to replace some 1980s metal that vanished from my collection, either due to the transition to CDs (you know, those shiny round things people used before iPods) or to being permanently borrowed.
One of my gifts arrived yesterday and took me back more than 20 years: the self-titled CD by Smashed Gladys, a glam-metal band I saw a couple of times at a long-gone venue on East 13th Street in Manhattan called the Cat Club. It just reminded me of when things were so much simpler.
I listened to Smashed Gladys on my iPod during my PATH commute this morning and, in quite the rarity for me, I was actually smiling pre-caffeine. The odds of my smiling in the morning – especially while en route to cubicle hell – are fairly close to the odds of bin-Laden emerging from a cave to wish a group of Jews a happy Purim.
I thought about how much more fun music was back then. I believe I saw the band sometime during the period of 1985-87, when music just had to be loud and fun. Rock bands didn’t feel the need to try to record the one song that was going to suddenly convince the president to call off a war. Hip-hop groups bragged about who the better rapper was, not about their arsenal of weapons and how many cops they smoked.
I thought about the feeling of accomplishment when I actually got into places like the Cat Club prior to turning 21. Obviously, that’s not a problem for me anymore, but it always felt good to not get carded at the age of 19 or 20.
I thought about the gigantic crush I had on Sally Cato, the lead singer of Smashed Gladys. Mmmm … Sally Cato.
It was a great trip down memory lane, which ended abruptly with my arrival here in cubicle hell for another day of drudgery.
So thank you to my generous friends, to Amazon.com and to Smashed Gladys.
Mmmm … Sally Cato.