NOSTALGIA

for the last few years, i’ve noticed a resurgence of nostalgia-based events, tv shows, and music festivals. i’m sure you’ve seen it, too. stranger things is coated in a gooey layer of 80s motifs that attempt to disguise the tired use of arguments to advance the recycled plot. we’re using early 2000s branding and marketing in fashion. pointy dad sunglasses are in. warped tour is back. there’s an emo night coming to a bar near year. i saw creed last summer for crying out loud. it was sick by the way.

when i went to furnace fest in 2021 i was struck by the role nostalgia played in glueing the event together. these were bands that USED to tour and USED to play festivals and USED to have massive followings. now they play to a crowd of thirty-somethings with sunburned dad bodies and thinning hair. the musicians themselves are pushing into their 40s screaming lyrics they wrote as teenagers.

usually i’m annoyed by the reliance on “the old days” as a source of substance. it feels cheap like a slight of hand trick. but as i stood side-stage this summer watching aaron gillespie beat the fuck out of his drums at warped tour, i felt it. something old came alive in me. i was starkly present - the aggression and raw emotion in the music were all that existed. the whole point of being alive at that moment was to belt out words written two decades ago that were as true as ever. the feeling it conjured wasn’t new or unfamiliar. it was belonging. “i am part of this - something better and more powerful and beautiful than, well, everything.”

the aging men next to me seemed to feel it too: a reprieve from the daily truth we face of our insignificance, mediocrity, our petty suffering. of a job we have to work, the mini van some drove to the show, the things on a list begging for our attention. for a second, the dream was alive again. we rose above the malaise for the span of a chorus.

we’ve deconstructed our faith and lost hope in the government. no longer do we think there is a god planning our lives. the promises we hear now are from tiktok influencers who get a commission if we buy the giant cup in their hand. our social security will run out before we can claim the benefits we’ve been paying for. the experts we listen to are comedians on podcasts with no credentials other than their millions of nodding viewers. the food we eat is killing us and the water is running out. we’ve trashed the environment. the AI bubble is about to burst. there are no traditional salvation stories worth believing.

if i’m honest, i often feel like i’ve lost the plot.

then the stomping of our capitalistic march to glory (retirement) was drowned out by stacks of marshall amps and camarades singing in unison. for those 3 minutes, we dropped our burdens and refilled our hearts with wonder, letting our inner kids out to play. the kids that fell in love with this band who didn’t yet know about the terms and conditions of car loans, tax brackets, or factory farming. the kids who knew in their bones they would grow up to do something spectacular. the ones who believed in heroes and that they would be one.

today, my balding brothers and i stopped pretending we had it all together, like we weren’t just teenagers who’d kept the faith even as the constraints of existence tied us to contexts, places, and roles. like back when we weren’t director of such and such or assistant vice something or “project managers”. once again we were kids with racing hearts and hoarse voices, unbreakable bones and fluttering stomachs, tingling skin and sweaty backs. we were beyond alive. and in a flash, we transcended. we were limitless, immortalized, exactly where we belonged.

this isn’t the first generation to look in the rearview to find inspiration in a feeling that once strong is now fleeting. certain bands and waves of art imprint on people like the first hit of heroine. you get lost stumbling through the chaos of life and remember a time when things felt solid, grounded, real. new music is good, but not as good as i remember when i was younger.

at 16, i was enraptured by a new band. it would carry me away. i am still heavily effected by music but now there’s a lot of background chatter -

“how can i get more orders on my shopify store…are my love handles increasing or decreasing in mass…should i really have given my ex-wife so much god damned money…WOW! what a guitar tone!…should i put my hands in my pockets again or will someone notice i’m uncomfortable and fidgety…i wonder if my staff are going to quit…did that man know what he looked like before he left home…karl’s hand is so little and perfect…will the landlord fix our AC this week…DAMN! that drum fill was incredible…i should play drums again…”

honestly, i think my mind was just as loud as a kid. i was seriously depressed and anxious. i was afraid my life would be unremarkable, dull. that i would be a failure in some colossal way. maybe that’s why the music hit harder back then. it was an answer to big questions.

do i belong somewhere else?
is there more than this dull town?
is there a life worth living out there?

a lot of what i felt from music was hope. you need to feel afraid to feel hope. and i was scared shitless.

perhaps these pale friends of mine came here for the same thing - to check on that little kid who was so scared and show him who we are now.

look how far we’ve come! it’s not glamorous and it’s been way worse than you can imagine at times, sometimes better, but either way - we made it. and we’re still making it. there’s a lot we love about our life now. we do in fact belong and have ground under our feet. things aren’t so scary and also not quite so promising. turns out the hero story is made up. we’re not the main character.

but we’re doing well.

and with great relief, you realize the transcendent connection you’ve quietly tended to, sometimes alone, is still in tact. there is more. there is beauty to be found.

in our consumption of nostalgic content i think we’re all searching for something to live for. solid ground. something real and un-ironic. something sincere. a break from the cynicism of post modernism that says everything is a power grab.

i don’t know if there is a one-time cure, a lasting source of inspiration, but i doubt it’s at the end of the next reboot or after you’ve seen every set at lalapalooza.

all i know is that i felt it - substantial, real beauty - and i’m not ready to call off the search for more.