3rd
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Coolidge: Descendents (1987)
I don’t know how I would have survived adolescence without the Descendents. And it’s funny, because just as I was ashamed to tell my high school classmates that I listened to Buddy Holly, Frankie Vallie, Carole King and all sorts of music that only parents were supposed to like, I think I was ashamed to be listening to the Descendents in my twenties. The past was still too recent. I squirmed at visions of a young, awkward me – band T-shirts, bad skin, and even worse hair.
But screw it. I’m in my thirties now. I’ve recently rediscovered and embraced my love for the Descendents. It might have something to do with my changing perceptions of adulthood. While I find that it’s less about being cool, it’s also not that much different from being a teen. There’s a whole lot of posturing and fear of your bluff being called.
Being an adult can be good. I’m so relieved that my skin has finally cleared up. And I still think it’s the coolest thing in the world that I can eat candy whenever I want. And stay up as late as I want. I don’t worry about getting beat up anymore. But I often feel just as insecure as I ever did. I’m still burdened with anxiety and doubt and depression. I still feel young in the worst sense, like there are so many people older and wiser out there, just waiting to tell me what I’m doing wrong.
Thankfully, music still works. I’m not a cool guy anymore. As if I ever was before. It still feels so good, after that spastic drum intro, to hear those words come rolling out of my headphones. You can only be a victim, Milo Aukerman reassures me, if you admit defeat. And I haven’t.
