Modern music is rubbish, I declare,
as I sit drinking a beer with my work-mates
in the busy city-centre bar, the pop music blaring.
Just a tinny, tuneless racket.
At least bands in the 90’s played their own instruments.
A few days later, I pick my dad up
to take him for the weekly food-shop.
As we set off the 90’s radio station kicks in.
My dad shakes his head in disgust.
Call that music? It’s just a noise.
The Beatles, now there was a band!
As we’re pushing the trolley up and down
the supermarket aisles, a question occurs to me.
Did grandad like the Beatles? I ask, referring to his father.
My father laughs as the memories come back to him.
Did he heck! He always said they were far too loud and couldn’t sing.
He forced me to listen to Sinatra, Dean Martin and Bing.
On the drive home I smile at the realisation.
I can’t stand today’s music, but then
my father feels exactly the same
about the soundtrack of my youth,
and in turn, his father thought the Fab Four
were Far From It.
Modern music might not be rubbish after all.
It might just be that modern music is
Modern.