Disbanding of the Tribe

"He labored mightily and brought forth a Mouse."

Two months between entries and I start with acknowledging that I break my long silence only to acknowledge that I bought Boston's Greatest Hits for my own Christmas stocking, and talk about what that might mean.

Okay, no - no Kansas, no Journey, no Peter Frampton - nothing else from the mid-seventies stadium rock era, but it's still a betrayal of the Progressive-to-Glitter-to-Punk allegiance of the years when listening to music wasn't another solitary sin. What that means is that I, acting as a social atom, without reference to affiliation or ideology, consulting only my own tastes, like Boston - at least "More than a Feeling," "Peace of Mind," and "Don't Look Back." Oh, and this doesn't have the slight ironic tinge of my newly found taste for Detroit metal.

The standard take would be that this all is a step forward - autonomy and all that. Freedom to like what I like, not what I think I am supposed to enjoy. Leaving aside the question of whether that was happening (because it wasn't that I never listened to stadium rock - I just never bought any, didn't do the concerts) - it might be interesting to see whether that "follow you own bliss" is only for those who have that tendency, not for instinctive isolates, those with abnormal social-signal receptors, caustic independent analytics- just as the healthy diets of some people with unusual metabolisms may call for MORE fat, rather than the less most of us should have.

Music as a statement, a sign, a shibboleth, a badge, an emblem, a uniform - that's not a, indefensibly stupid choice, and pleasure is not yet so rare that it has to be the only consideration in aesthetics. But you can't conjure up a tribal life when the tribe has scattered all over the world. So, not only am I listening, I'm quoting:

I see what I am
is holding me down
I'll turn around