“Do you have kids?” I was interviewing a band just off Denmark Street in London. The singer was telling me about his toddler. His kid was cute, he was telling me, but he was still at that age: he didn’t DO much.
“What age are your boys? Teenagers? Aw, I can’t wait til he’s that age so that I can talk to him about music, y’know?”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him. It isn’t like that. When his kid becomes old enough to care about music, the last thing he’s gonna to do is ask his dad for recommendations.
I had been like him once – a massive music nerd, eager to create an army of clones. Like Lou Reed sang in Beginning Of A Great Adventure: “It might be fun to have a kid… A little me to fill up with my thoughts/A little me or he or she to fill up with my dreams”.
I’ve got three boys. I thought I’d breed a little gang of music nerds, kids that knew the lyrics to (White Man) in Hammersmith Palais, could tell you which Rolling Stones albums to buy, and be able to hold their own in a conversation about the differences between dub, reggae, ska and rock steady. Who could appreciate Pink Floyd, Zeppelin and Nick Drake. A little army of musical evangelists, able to recommend the latest hot band, or mad new remix, or mixtape.
Spoiler alert: It didn’t turn out like that.
For two reasons, I think. One: You’ve gotta let your kids be themselves. I played music around the house, I tried to make it fun, and I had some small victories: They liked The Beatles, the Ramones, and The Clash (particularly I Fought The Law). But mostly, they weren’t that into my old shit. They wanted to hear the stuff their friends liked. According to Apple Music, my 25 Most Played Songs includes A-Team by Ed Sheeran and songs by Passenger and John Legend. Those are not songs I have ever knowingly played.
The Second Reason My Kids Didn’t Turn Out To Be Massive Music Nerds: Mobile phones.
When my kids were old enough, they got their own phones. They had an Apple Music account but they hardly used it. They had YouTube. They had games to play. And then later they had Snapchat and TikTok. They had a world of entertainment in their pocket at all times. Music was just a small part of that world: annoying clips on TikToks, background music on FIFA. I bought them Bluetooth speakers but they didn’t use them: they just played stuff on their phone’s tinny little speaker.
When they got to their mid-teens and they wanted headphones, they asked for Beats and Airpods. I told them: They’re not good headphones. They didn’t care. They were cool. All the footballers had them.
And then something weird happened. My kids weren’t kids anymore. One of them went travelling by himself and it opened his eyes – and ears. He listened to a lot of music while travelling – you don’t look at videos on your phone when you’ve gone to the other side of the world and you’re looking around in wonder.
And when he came back, and it was his birthday, he asked for headphones. Good ones. Over-ears.
I did my research. I used Louder’s guide to headphones, because I knew it was written by Steve May who’s been reviewing headphones and musical tech for decades. And I read Amazon reviews and Reviews on What HiFi and TechRadar and – on Prime Day this summer – I bought him a pair of headphones I saw raved about over and over again: the Sony WH-1000XM4s. (In his latest guide, Steve May actually recommends the Sony WH-1000XM5s, the newer version: I’m sure they’re great, but they were out of my budget. They’re in the Black Friday sale now, 35% off.)
Suddenly, I had a music fan. The Sonys made everything sound amazing. They were comfortable, the charge lasted for a week. Then the texts started: What’s Neil Young like? Where should I start with Pink Floyd? Who else sounds like The Clash? Had I heard Fontaines DC or King Krule?
He’s at university now. I’m still getting the texts. “What are The Cure like? Do Joy Division have any other good songs apart from Love Will Tear Us Apart?” The Sonys are never off his head. I texted him to ask what he liked about them: “I’d say sound quality,” he said. “You can hear everything in a song, all the different instruments. And comfort: you could wear them for four hours and they wouldn’t hurt.
“It’s made me wanna listen to proper music – bass-y music sounds so good.”
He’s got into The Smiths after hearing them on David Fincher’s The Killer movie. When he came home, I pulled my old vinyl copies out: He didn’t care, had no interest. Vinyl doesn’t mean anything to him. He has his phone, a library of music at his fingertips, and he has his headphones.
I need to get in touch with that singer again. Maybe I’ve got some advice for him after all.
