You know you are getting old when you realise you are turning into your Dad. When the hair starts disappearing from your head and growing out of your ears, when documentaries on the Yesterday channel appeal to you, and when you start berating kids playing football in the street – even though you yourself did the same thing – you know that you are edging eve closer to feeding the worms. But worse than all this, and the biggest tell tale sign, is when you realise that you just don't understand modern music, can't make out what they are saying, and describe it as just "random noise".
Not all modern music is bad though. A lot is, but not all. My biggest problem with music is that Heavy Metal died in the early nineties. Sure, rock has remained, and been fantastic on occasion, but honest, misogynistic, death loving, growling, sweaty Heavy Metal has been on the mortuary slab for a long, long time. See, I grew up on Heavy Metal. My first gig was Faith No More, and I was there on Bruce Dickinson's last tour with Iron Maiden before he went off to become a pilot. I owned the leather and denim jacket combo, emblazoned with patches and buttons. And yes, I had long hair too.