I heard the song Paranoid in my grocery store a few days ago.
Paranoid.
Not the Musak version, or some adult-contemporary cover, or some otherwise softened homage. The raw 1970 version from the Black Sabbath album of the same name, complete with Ozzy’s whining and Iommi’s ripping riff (one of the best ever).
Are you f’n kidding me? What has happened to this world I live in? Paranoid in the grocery store? Shouldn’t there be a line at customer service of irate mothers and other do-gooders aghast at the filth they and their children are being audibly exposed to? This world is going to hell.
This is my music. Always has been. I’m a metal lover. Part of why I love it is because of its taboo-ness. It’s rough, energetic, irreverent, and abrasive. It’s heavy metal. My metal.
How dare they appropriate my music by assuming it’s fit for the general public’s consumption.
And then I remember. I’m no longer a teenager. The same is true for all generations and their music. It happened to big band, jazz, blues, rock, rap. All of it.
Eventually, the cutting-edge, abrasive, young-person-focused, and culturally taboo becomes…the norm. Even fit for the grocery store aisles. My music, once a source of pride in how I distinguished myself from the norm, has become a cultural nonfactor. Accepted even.
Get off my lawn!
