Crotch-Rock Curmudgeon

A good friend of mine has taken to calling me a curmudgeon. I suppose I should be offended, but part of me takes some perverse pride in the label.

I looked it up. A curmudgeon is a “bad-tempered, difficult, cantankerous person.” Synonyms include “grouch”, “crank” and “sourpuss.” And I have to admit, every time some massive new “music event” is announced for this summer in the Maritimes, all those labels apply to me.

“Virgin Festival?” Bah. “Halifax Rocks?” Puh-lease. “Bon Jovi?” You’ve got to be kidding me. As I’m sure you know, some of the “big names” coming to Moncton and Halifax this summer include AC/DC, KISS, The Tragically Hip, and, of course, Sir Paul McCartney.

I guess my main complaint is that curmudgeons of my ilk are SO not into tired crotch rock. Also, we are not fans of kitschy makeup or boys with big hair. The “hair rule” alone means that we are not likely to be fans of any of the members of Kiss (wigs count), most of the boys in Bon Jovi, or that one dude in the Tragically Hip who still has his hair.

Also, curmudgeons like me are not big on dredging up the past. Can you say “so yesterday?” Age-wise, I guess I am the demographic that most of these shows are meant to appeal to (class of ’81, go Greyhounds), but I wasn’t even into these bands back when they were real bands, and not just novelty acts. It’s like a bad dream that KISS and AC/DC keep popping up as the world draws deeper into the new millennium. When will I be free of screaming boys who elevate tongue-wagging and cheesy guitar distortion to a high art? It’s truly grade ten all over again.

Okay, sure this McCartney fellow falls into a different category, and apparently he was once in some band that made girls scream a lot and occasionally faint (way before my time), but the curmudgeon in me feels the need to remind you that, since, oh, 1970 or so, he hasn’t really written a decent piece of music. Remember “Silly Love Songs?” I totally rest my case.

And it’s not just an aversion to re-living my ill-spent youth that will keep me away from all these shows. Simply on principle, we curmudgeons are not fans of large crowds. We are, after all, probably all control freaks, and big groups are notoriously hard to control. We like to have easy access to food and drink. And we are very fussy about our toilets. Curmudgeons do not like porta-potties. Lining up for hours only to suffer the filthy indignities left by the thousands who have gone before us qualifies for the list of “things curmudgeons enjoy less than a hot poker in the eye.”

And although we are not particularly athletic, curmudgeons still find it kind of painful to witness the mess that concerts on the Halifax Common leave behind. Must the fans’ love of the Beatles override their love of the baseball?

We’re picky, we curmudgeons. By definition, hard to please. Still, I think we could be placated if the promoters in this region would simply book some shows that had a bit of appeal to a more eclectic audience than just perpetual adolescents. Maybe they could even bring in some “new” music – you know, bands that have formed within the last decade – so the rest of us could enjoy a bit of music without having to be quite so crotchety all the time.