Mid-Life Crisis Songs #91: Old Things

As I was driving to work yesterday, stuck in traffic, I gazed off through a ghastly modern housing estate and my heart was warmed by the glimpse of an old church in a gap between the carbuncles. It was in that moment, I realised…

I like old things.

And I much prefer them to new things.

Has it ever been so? No, I don’t think it has. I think it’s something that’s grown as I’ve grown. There was a time when I’d have been impressed by shiny new things – new buildings, new shopping centres, new cars… though I never got the appeal of New Order. (Reasons I'll never be part of the Muso-Bloggers Inner Circle #473.)

It’s the same with entertainment. More than ever, I find myself bored with new films, struggling to find new TV shows that grab me as much as the ones I watched in my youth, re-reading old comics to recapture something of the good old days. It’s like the new ones aren’t made for me: they’re made for the young.

Every year I buy lots of new music. But how much of it is actually new? None of it goes anywhere near the charts, with the possible exception of a throwback act like Sam Fender or Wet Leg, who may have captured the attention of a modern audience, but their roots are firmly in the past. 

I heard a new band I liked the other day. Except they’re not really new. For a start, they’ve been steadily popping out records (pretty much one a year) for more than a decade now. Then I learnt that I already owned music by one half of the band's central duo, Canadian singer-songwriter Luke Doucet, whose album Broken (And Other Rogue States) was a favourite back in 2005. Or 18 years ago as the kids like to call it. 

In Whitehorse, Luke’s joined by his wife, Melissa McClelland, who one critic described as having “a persona reminiscent of a female Tom Waits”. 'Nuff said.

So anyway, Whitehorse are not a new band. They’re old. Like us. But they’ve made some great "new" music… and I especially like the title of their new album: I’m Not Crying, You’re Crying.