Another stab at thoughts on nostalgia

Why does the past of our own lives have such a powerful hold on us?

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I first wrote about this specifically in a post from May of last year. I still think about it from time to time.

Here’s one observation I’ve made that keeps it among my thought processes. There’s a music venue about twenty miles from my home that’s, I don’t know, maybe fifteen years old. When it opened, it brought in a certain type of heavy hitter: music legends that still had cache without overt oldies pandering. Brian Wilson, Art Garfunkel. Then they began focusing on the next tier: music legends that had had some kind of hugely successful album decades ago with which they’d become identified, even though their bodies of work were considerably more extensive. Example: I saw Little Feat, whom I’d seen twice in the mid-1970s, make a tour stop at this venue to play their entire Waiting for Columbus album in order, faithfully following the arrangements of the record (which was recorded live in the late 70s). Then it got a little more contemporary. I saw The Wallflowers, which was a happening band around the turn of the century, and was led, as it still is, by Bob Dylan’s son Jakob. Driving by the concert hall recently, I saw that the marquee was touting a show by a Queen tribute band.

I don’t get tribute bands at all. What does the conversation among attendees at their shows sound like as they leave the auditorium? Is the point to remark on how accurately the singer or guitarist nailed some particular musical passage? Is it just to enjoy some memories with the addition of a razzle-dazzle light show?

I suppose the argument can be made that tribute-band shows have their roots in the performances of big bands whose leaders had passed years earlier, but were still faithfully following the arrangements their aging fans had known and loved. Who wants to hear a Glenn Miller orchestra messing with “String of Pearls”? And Glenn’s progeny wear coats and ties, and there ain’t no stinkin’ light show.

But a difference is the aforementioned dazzle-dazzle. You can’t get an audience to come to a show without it. You even have a hard time getting people to a church service without it.

I’m going to switch gears for a moment and mention a fact I’ve touched on before - namely. that Americans don’t read books or even long essays or articles anymore.

Cultural atrophy is advanced in post-America. We want memorable artifacts from our own lifespans, but have no interest in what was being discussed in ancient Greece, medieval Italy, Restoration England or nineteenth century Russia. Which might be fine if there was some current output on a par with the works of those times.

Reading dense works is essential to cultivating worthwhile reflection and to more fully understanding human nature. For centuries, much has been written about virtue, vice, how to determine what’s important, and how to organize a just and thriving society. To lose that is to wipe out an advancement we so take for granted that we assume it’s a permanent backdrop to our own lives.

And now, with the advent of AI actors and singers, we’re a step closer to everyone being able to custom-tailor his or her own little distraction universe. Already been through the entirety of Otis Redding’s recordings but still hankering for that old soul feeling? Eddie Dalton is here to deliver.

Beyond movable thumbs and language, what makes human beings unique among God’s creatures?

If no one is reading Scripture, how does the concept of imago dei have any meaning for us? What is it about us that is indeed a replica of the mind of our Creator? Surely not our modern inclination to become machines that run on distraction.

I think that folks generally sense the cultural atrophy I mention above, and it leaves them starved for a substance that is in short supply. And it’s compounded by other factors, such as the federal government threatening prison time for state-level leaders who still uphold Article I, Section 4, Clause 1 of the Constitution*, where the Today show, which has broadcast unmolested from a studio on Rockefeller Plaza for 74 years, is interrupted by a racist wacko trying to get at one of the show’s hosts, where a president who ran on not getting the US into wars has gotten us into a humdinger, and where petroleum prices are rising again as a result.

It’s wild out there. Who isn’t looking for some kind of solace?

But I guess we’re still in the fun and games phase of our downward descent. There’s always a new tribute show coming to town.

But I daresay there’s coming a moment when we’ll wish we had given more thought to what is going to save us in a land that’s running on empty.

*The Times, Places and Manner of holding Elections for Senators and Representatives, shall be prescribed in each State by the Legislature thereof; but the Congress may at any time by Law make or alter such Regulations, except as to the Places of chusing Senators.