What the F*** is Wrong? (Existentially)
Last month, I popped my head out from my comfortable gopher hole and wandered out to a Ministry Concert. Opener Corrosion of Conformity was better than I anticipated and at the ripe old age of 50, I snuck back into a pit for the first time in a long, long time. Of course the band played their biggest hit and I smiled and smiled.
And the second opener, The Melvins, were also on their game. They played a nice cross section of favorites, including mine, Civilized Worm. I smiled and smiled.
By the time Ministry went on stage, I knew my concert endurance level was shot and lingered toward the back for Uncle Al and Company. Ministry was spot on and played all the songs I wanted to hear.
Then what the fuck's my problem? Good Question.
No matter how loud the concert was, it couldn't drown out my thoughts. Almost all of the musicians were over 50. 80% of the audience was over 50. During the pandemic, the small club in Elyria, Ohio that gave local bands the opportunity to play live, closed. There is no "next" generation of Rock.
Rock is slowly dying and, by extension, so are you and I.