Growing Old in the Summer of 6ix9ine
At the time of this writing, in roughly 2 months, I am scheduled to turn 37. My brain has an idea of what this means but my inner self, my spirit, perhaps, continues its screaming and fiend-ing for youth. That is, for energy, opportunity, a sense of future, that things I never thought could happen, good things, unimaginably good things, might occur, and that my life might change drastically for the better in what amounts to an instant, for little to no reason. Instead, I am faced with the other reality, the “real-reality”, in which I am usually a little more tired and the metaphorical walls of the world seem to close in on me a little tighter. Nevertheless, my spirit keeps popping up, demanding, expecting, begging for, youth. It could happen, it says. I could wake up tomorrow relevant and rich, my past missteps corrected, safe and secure within the inner circle, as cool as I always thought I was.
I can remember the exact moment that I first felt “old”. It was in 1999. I was walking around my neighborhood, a small town built up around a lake roughly 90 minutes north of New York City. Intended initially as a vacation spot, many of the houses were former bungalows that had been converted to year round homes on the fly. It was summertime, and hot, and the lake had a muggy ambience to it, simultaneously inviting and repulsing. I was on my way to a friend’s house when I heard a band rehearsing a few doors down. I knew who lived there, he was playing the drums, and I recognized the singer’s voice, too. The band consisted mostly of guys a year or two younger than I. Some readers may recall that this was just around the time that Limp Bizkit was making their stain on music culture, and these garage rockers were doing their best imitation.
I stopped to listen as the vocalist scream rapped a few bars and the guitarist chugged away in dropped D. Not only did the music not resonate with me at all, but I also couldn’t find the appeal. Usually, no matter the genre, there was something to like — a tone, some swagger, a clever hook — but this time, nothing. All I heard was “loud” and a man on a mic ripping off people more talented than he. Limp Bizkit and their ilk seemed to me little more than badly drawn cartoons. Their sounds, simplistic. Their lyrics, brutish. Talentless and meaningless, “rap-rock” represented nothing more than another grab at the MTV audience by using crassness as bait. ‘NSYNC with explicit content.
It was at this moment that I realized I was officially on the outside. I had become old. The young people had their own sound, their own scene, their own style, and it repulsed and offended my taste and sensibilities. Just like Chuck Berry, The Rolling Stones, The Dead Boys, Madonna, Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog had all done before, a new generation’s ears had been captured, and the older crowd could not find the appeal. Over-sexualized, brash, and, yes, simple and brutal, the wave had come once again and, instead of riding high with the in-crowd, I was being swept away.
I first became aware of 6ix9ine by way of Theo Von, by way of Instagram. Von had reposted a video in which 6ix9ine is pulled off on the side of the road in what looks like Florida after a rain storm. Excited, he announces the stats for his latest song and instructs his DJ to hit it. He then grabs a huge rainbow umbrella and commences to do an impromptu dance routine which included splashing around in a big puddle. ‘Oh jeez’, I thought to myself. ‘His sneakers and jeans are going to be soaked. And those shoes are bright white, no less!’
These are the thoughts of an old person.
Of course, this was only the beginning. What counts for me as something of a deep dive began, going through his Instagram posts, his face tattoos, various run-ins with the law, and, finally, his music. ‘Gummo’, the first song that I checked out, is rife with what I was to learn as 6ix9ine’s signature screaming.
(‘Oh, it’s Onyx’, I thought to myself. Shortly thereafter, while watching an interview with the Breakfast Club, Charlamagne Tha God made the same observation [which made me feel immediately vindicated], to which 6ix9ine more or less replies, ‘No, DMX.’, [which immediately popped my bubble.])
6ix9ine grew up around heavy metal and rock and his vocal style reflects that, as well. Watching clips of his performances, he straight riles the crowd up. Pumping his legs back and forth across the stage, stage diving and shouting viscously, a 6ix9ine show has more to do with the riotous energy of a Sex Pistols’ concert than the cool machismo of a hip-hop one. And just as my ancestors had furrowed their brows at punk rock whilst I scowled back in disdain, a reflex kicked in. I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stop it. The question rose appeared before I even knew what was happening. ‘What is a performance?’, I wondered. What are people paying for here? I mean, 6ix9ine is using backing tracks, which even include certain backing vocals. Theoretically, couldn’t you take him off the stage completely and just let a high quality sound system do its thing? An auditory assault — low, loud bass and drums, chainsaw synths — should get anyone’s heart pumping. That’s what the audience is here for, right? To experience something raw, something unhinged, something that creeps up to and just stops short of a riot? But isn’t this what the old folks alway think? “The music is just loud, just screaming. It’s talking over drums and over-sexualized. They aren’t even playing their own instruments. It’s too simplistic, brutish.” And in this case, “what’s up with those face tattoos?!”
There are certain days that my brain will play along with my spirit and I’ll think, “Okay, I can do this. I can turn it all around. There is a bright future ahead, I just need to be positive and exercise and eat right and keep trying.” But then I see what all those young people are into and it turns on me and I’m left with, “Wait, is there any future at all?” Is it going to be all face tattoos, internet hype, screaming and chain-saw synths? Climate change and autocrats? That is, do I even stand a chance and, if so, what am I in line for?
It’s useless to complain about 6ix9ine or Limp Bizkit or how the times change. It’s just that, I’d really like to know, is it possible for an old guy like me to ride this wave, too?
