Musa, miha causas memora

Last night I lay in bed and wondered how it exactly it was that I had come to own three CDs by Death Cab For Cutie.

Three! Ye Gods! I think there are perhaps three songs on those CDs that bear a second listen, and I’m somewhat convinced they came into being by accident, like the proverbial monkeys producing Shakespeare. If an indie band writes X number of songs over X number of CDs, the laws of probability state that X songs will be damn fine pop songs, with verse chorus verse and a nice hook i.e. like “Soul Meets Body,” and the rest will be meandering, formless and forgettable, like most of what is called indie rock today.

At least I think it’s called indie. Maybe that kind of music is more properly referred to as emo? I’m no longer hip enough to tell the difference, though I suspect emo is sung by limpid and plaintive young men with bangs. My musical conscious was formed in a world divided into Top Forty and College radio, and I confess I never evolved much beyond that.

I still hate Green Day, in case you were wondering, and even if you weren’t. Yet I realize this seething animus is not quite rational. The band’s musical crimes are minor and they have the good sense to rip off the Ramones and Husker Du, so my violent reaction to their songs is inexplicable. It’s not like they’re Jimmy Buffet or anything.

Ah well. I apologize to the many Green Day fans. I am simply not able to be reasonable about this.