I turned 38 this past weekend. I am now — and have been really for the past three to five years — the target market for reissues and catalog.
When I was young, I had a chip on my shoulder about people who would buy up reissues and special editions. Pfeh. Living in the past. Why don’t you all man up and listen to something new? That was my foolish, youthful thinking.
Then I reached a point where that old Battlestar Galactica proverb reared its head — all this has happened before, and it will happen again.
I program my TiVo to catch this music video program on LOGO called NewNextNow. It’s not a bad survey of what’s bubbling under the floundering hit-making machinery of the media conglomerates. (Although most of the music featured on the show is made by major labels.)
But I’ll listen to these so-called new bands, and I inevitably rattle off comparisons — ah, that’s Echo and the Bunnymen fronted by Ben Gibbard. Oh, look, a guitarist who idolizes the Edge. And those 8-bit blips and bleeps are so post-Kraftwerk, pre-Nick Rhodes.
The new isn’t really new, now that I’m knocking on the door of 40. But here’s the thing about the past — it can be every bit as unexplored territory as the new. And even the familiar sounds different at 38 than 18, let alone 28.
So bring on the reissues and the catalog. I’m a grown-up now.