I’ve never been one for nostalgia. I find the process of constantly looking backwards to not only be pointless, but thoroughly depressing. One would find the fact that I am a history major to be ironic in this respect, but I have always believed that a study of the past gives me a better grasp on everyday life. I am also incredibly lazy when it comes to school, and there is very little work involved with this area of study.

In my distaste for nostalgia, I am quite ready to declare the practice of 80s worship over. If you’re going to look back at the 80s, let it be the 1780s, which had a great deal of import to them, along with a healthy obsession for wigs and dueling. As for the 1980s, however, they are done. Both as current events, and as an interesting trip down memory lane. If I have to hear one more spotty teenager tell me “the music in the 80s was so cool,” I will have to strangle them, while making a recording of their death gurgles. There are two things that always annoy me with that statement.

-1. The music they are referring to is often the bland crap which made the decade so generic. I had some wannabe dj, a bartender at the local freak bar, tell me recently that the J. Geils Band and Huey Lewis made the 80s sound fun. No, those were bar bands, which should have thrived and died in their respective watering holes. Instead, they pollute the radio to this day, making me shudder every time I’m at the grocery store.

-2. In those rare occasions they are referring to the actual good music from the era, I have to remind them that that music was so atypical, the exception proving the rule. Yes, New Order, the B-52s, and Depeche Mode made some great music back then, but damned if you ever heard them. You know what I remember being on the radio? Journey, Hall and Oates, Lionel Richie, and a lot of Foreigner.

There is one reason to look back fondly on this decade, and that’s the plethora of options. Whatever your tastes were, there was some distinct sub-genre to appeal to them. Today’s pop radio is so bland and inoffensive, market researched to the nth degree, that in trying to appeal to everyone, no one is satisfied. If Nickelback, Hinder, Coldplay or Weezer are supposed to be the logical conclusion of rock’s evolution, then I offer a counter-example with the Cult. The first 30 seconds of “She Sells Sanctuary” could pistol-whip, de-pants, and donkey-punch anything played on those anemic shells calling themselves “modern rock stations.” Lacking the usual adolescent innuendos of 80s rock, as well as any horribly-dated synths or backup singers, the song is a painful indication of where rock should have gone, but didn’t. You don’t need auto-tuning, or amusing irony, when you have a hat with a skull and crossbones on it.

I have a dj’ing gig soon, at the same bar where Mr Bartender/vinyl spinner works. The set list will be my usual variety of new tracks I think need to be played painfully loud, as well as those overlooked gems from our musical past. I damn sure won’t be playing “Thriller,” “Don’t Stop Believing,” or “My Sharona.” I will be playing “She Sells Sanctuary,” though, and I hope the wannabe dj’s sternum explodes with that first, concussive drum beat. It’s things like that which made the 80s great, Mr Smarmy.