The missus wanted a salad badly enough today that she was willing to buy it, so we ate at Wendy’s before going to Chinamart for our main weekly grocery run. As we ate, she grumped about the loud and lousy music. She was right about being loud, but the music was from my youth, so I rather enjoyed the trip down memory lane. The missus is just enough older than me that she doesn’t care for the music that I listened to as a kid and young adult.
One number they played was from Saturday Night Fever. I didn’t remind her that I once knew the line dance from that show. Nor did I tell her that, during those days, I had a leisure suit, a “Disco Joe” shirt as we jokingly called them and a pair of platform shoes. Pretty strange threads for a kid who liked everything from classical to bluegrass and usually dressed in a T-shirt, jeans, a straw hat and a pair of western boots with traces of real honest-to-goodness horse pucky in the welt.
When I made my customary visit to the men’s room before leaving, they were playing the Cat Stevens’ version of “Another Saturday Night,” so THAT was the song that stuck in my head today. The words aren’t anything special, but I like the sound.
I’ve been lucky the last couple times that I’ve been in restaurants that their playlist was of original music, not flaky repro stuff by unknown bands. I stopped in a fast food joint on the far side of town to use the john the other day where that wasn’t the case. The beginnings of two songs played while I was there and on both, the band and singer sounded just like the originals for about two lines, then the sound went to total crap.
I’ve heard it said that one of the surest signs of old age is when the music of your youth starts turning up on the playlists of elevator music. That began about 10 years ago. So now you know folks; I’m officially over the hill! © 2017