Now that I’m officially an Old Fart, I am somewhat more resigned to the fact that most people have all their taste in their mouths – if they have any taste at all. My retail days are long behind me, so it’s fairly easy to remain oblivious to the Tops of the Pops these days. It’s probably just as well; death by aneurism doesn’t sound like much fun. These days I save my rage for idiots, bigots, the current administration (lotsa crossover there, actually), and Seattle drivers. I am much more of the “live and let live, or at least live and ignore” mindset, musically speaking.

There are, however, a few musical undercurrents in the river of music flowing past my door which leave me completely mystified. Try as I might, I just can’t work out the appeal of the following:

• The neo-folkie thing. You know what I’m talking about – earnest, sensitive boys with Keane-painting eyes, screwed-down hair and acoustic guitars. Bright Eyes is the most egregious example I can think of. (It’s been a while since I’ve heard either of these guys, so I may be off-base in my lumping them together, but Devendra Banhart and Sufjan Stevens would seem to fit what I’m getting at here as well). What, exactly, is the draw behind the autistic indie-boy antics of Conor Oberst? Seriously – I’d love to have someone explain this to me, because I’ve listened to probably three or four of his songs and I can’t get past the first verse with this guy. It just strikes me as humorless, precious twaddle.

• The new wave (and I use that term advisedly) of pseudo Post-Punk bands. The Killers, The Bravery, Louis XIV, Franz Ferdinand, Interpol, Hot Hot Heat, Dogs Die In Hot Cars (which is, hands down, the absolute worst band name ever conceived – and I thought Our Lady Peace had retired the title) and on and on, ad nauseaum. They capture the sound of the bands they emulate, some of them, (Gang of Four and The Fall seem to be big influences right now), but none of the spirit of experimentation and inventiveness. Zero. Nada. It’s all a hollow masquerade as far as I can see, little boys dressing up in big brother’s (or, let’s face it, Daddy’s) clothes. What’s the point of that? If you can’t bring something new to the table, stay the fuck home. Am I right? If you’re into this sort of thing, do yourself a favor and check out the originals. Buy some fucking Joy Division and get on with your life.

OK, so maybe I still harbor a little anger. Just means I’m alive, right?