Love Songs In Middle-Age

I am 31 and fully dead.

Lloyd Cole says the first song he ever wrote about being middle-aged was Hey Rusty. Anybody listening to his 1987 album ‘Mainstream’ can tell he’s having a bit of an identity crisis: songs like Sean Penn Blues and My Bag are sharp satires of a world Cole doesn’t seem to want to be part of any more, yet clearly sees himself striving for. Combined with later career introspection we see in songs like Tried To Rock from his 2000 album ‘The Negatives’ you see a man trying to escape his own life through performative actions lead by what he could be, and what he thinks he should be.

Singer Frank Turner released his critically acclaimed album ‘Love Ire & Song’ at the age of 27. Peppered with references to T. S. Eliot’s J. Alfred Prufrock, failed endeavours, and jaded political sentiment, it’s an album about not feeling young anymore: relating to your teachers more than your own young self, with songs like Photosynthesise and Substitute about why we keep doing things without finding success and a title track begging yourself to give a shit whilst looking at both the past and the future. Turner is no longer sure if he finds drinking and carousing fun, and the whole album is a search for meaning in the life he has built up around himself.

These were my favourite singers at 15.

Oh, I have always loved pop and rock and dancing, and I was listening to Christina Aguilera and The Killers and Paramore on repeat as well, but unavoidably my favourite musicians were poets and punks struggling with finding themselves feeling old, writing about the vague success they had found not being enough. I felt empathy for them, felt older than my own meagre years, and felt a nebulous sense that the world was happening somewhere else and I was close, but not quite what it wanted. I found kindred spirits in these older practitioners of folk, especially in the days before fandom. I wasn’t part of the folk-rock ‘tribe’, nor was there a name for being a fan of these people. Both of them barely had merch, so I wasn’t repping them anywhere except my headphones and at gigs.

I am almost 32 now. What am I, at this grand old age, supposed to listen to? Who am I supposed to relate to?

Many of my favourite musicians and writers have been on the periphery of success. We think of Orwell, for example, as a canonical classic, but until 1984 he was a mildly successful jobbing journalist, making ends meet by churning out columns and doing contract work for the BBC. Coincidentally, he was probably my favourite writer when I was 15. Most writers aren’t financially successful until they sell film rights of their work, and even our most taught and beloved poets work at universities for actual income. Success, then, is something that feels different as I have aged: I am surely not the only person for whom my wildest dreams are of being Bernadine Evaristo, who is widely respected for her work and perhaps even a household name (depending on the circles you move in), but is likely not paying her mortgage with residuals each month. Perhaps a lifetime of listening to disaffected middle-aged men primed me for the idea that the work is made not for the access to archival Nicolas Ghesquière or a sponsored beach vacation, but instead that work begets more work and the nuances of our creative selves are more important than a wide appeal.

An honest artistic voice doesn’t mean intellectualism: Kevin Kwan will always be defended by me for his wry and powerful humour and his delightful research and world-building that makes his work unique (translation: I wish more frothy romance gave me footnotes on pottery). It also isn’t necessarily a kiss of death for success, as my feelings are by no means special and unique. Searching for love songs as I age simply means I am seeking nuance and for a connection to something greater than myself. I don’t want to switch to Radio 2 and relive the hits of my youth. I want fresh perspective, self-reflection, and charm – and perhaps I want to feel like I am not agéd, just a whole and dynamic person.

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On This Topic:

• Yes I am once again referencing Philip Larkin, and also alluding to him the body of this essay.
• The answer to ‘who am I supposed to relate to’ is similarly asked by the answer: Ms Swift herself. In case you are seeking to know why she is so successful.
• Once again a reminder that Sean Penn did some dark shit and maybe we shouldn’t let that slide?

To-Do:

• Write more articles. I am out of queued articles.
• Fuck the articles, write more for your PhD!!
• Pick up journalling again, sometimes you just need to write for nobody.

Today’s Culture:

• My work playlists, which are going to define my spotify wrapped this year.
• Personally chosen stickers bought from Redbubble are much more expensive than ones that come in bundles, but they are significantly better than the wild west that is Etsy these days. Sincerely, I have literally been sent AI artwork on stickers, and watermarked ones, and a bunch of moths I personally will not be using.
• I think my first Laszló Krasznahorkai is going to be Seiobo There Below – any feedback?