DAWN OF THE UNDEPRAVED

While I was outside earlier, after pills and coffee, the moon was going down to the west giving a false silvery dawn, because of the fog and the dense trees at the top of the hill several blocks away. Birds were tweeting, very Spring-like. And Mila Kunis singing Pat Benatar's 'Love Is A Battlefield' in Russian was going through my head.

And I realized that the music of my generation is now further away than what my parents may have listened to when they were the age that I was then. So we're talking about some pretty antique stuff, which deservedly might not hit the airwaves now. As neither should what we favoured. Because in retrospect much of it was ghastly.

On the other hand, I now fondly click on Youtube's of singers from the thirties to the fifties famous for black and whites in foreign languages. Oh, that innocence. Even the faintly hinted borderline deparavity that glimmers at the edge of hearing is so much more fresh and sweet.
Our standards for depravity are more rigorous.

Punk, heavy metal, and tthe "easy listening"channel changed everything.
Personally, I blame Ronald Reagan and Maggie Thatcher.
The Nineteen Eighties were truly horrible.

Still, I miss that time. Not because things were better -- mostly they were worse -- but because of the perspective I had on life back then. My vantage points have shifted.
Victrolas, tape players, typewriters, landlines.
Possibly less cholesterol in food.
Very innocent snacks.


They still hadn't invented vegan and gluten-free back then.
And had barely discovered oats. As just minor details.
We had less Protestant guilt over things.
And spicier frissonage.



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