Once upon a time in the mid-90s, an 11-year-old me almost died of embarrassment at a primary school disco, as I watched my mum pound one too many white wines and start throwing shapes to what could only be described as “old people’s music”.
As it turns out, a fair few of us have faced the indignity of seeing our parents get sloshed and strut their funky stuff in public – but it only ever happened when the right tune came on; which is something a now 32-year-old me can relate to.
Whilst a pre-pubescent group of us all hoped the DJ would drop 2Unlimited or Haddaway, a few of the parents had requested the Bee Gees and Chic, which transformed a bunch of bores in their 30s who had been standing around, clock watching all night long, into a curious breed of messy animals indulging in disco fever.
The notion that a person grows out of a music taste might be true on some levels, but it certainly isn’t an age-dependent thing.
If you love a song that much, it will still stir up the same emotions in you at 50, as it did at 18, which begs the question: in 40 years’ time, will there be old folks’ residence and care homes full of pensioners listening to house and techno?
Although this may seem a highly unlikely scenario, is it actually that unrealistic?
Plenty of people who were part of the acid explosion of ‘88 and ‘89 still listen to the music. Granted, they don’t frequent many raves these days, but their passion for the sound hasn’t waned.
It was only last month that electronic live act, Underworld, filled out a 10,000 capacity Alexandra Palace – their biggest show to date. Wall to wall of over 50s losing their shit to an act they first saw in the early 90s.
Underworld will go on, and these fans will stick with them. Same as Sasha and Digweed, Jeff Mills, Carl Cox and any other DJ or producer who has influenced thousands of dance music lovers.
Like many parents who lived for disco, or others who were part of the acid house movement, or even our grandparents who loved Frank Sinatra; our generation has chosen the repetitive sounds of house and techno. It certainly won’t be watered down the older we get.
Can you really see a person turning 60 years old and deciding enough is enough, it’s time for some Bruno Mars in my life? Abso-fucking-lutely not.
I for one am relishing the prospect of becoming an OAP and discussing with my OAP friends the time we saved Fabric, reminiscing about a club called Space or asking who actually ever made it out to Miami.
Of course, there is always the likelihood that when we are 40, 60 or 80 years old, our children or grandchildren will be covering their ears, looking at each other with condemnation in their eyes as if to say, “what is this shit they’ve got on?”
You know what? I feel sorry for those kids already.