We live in a time when everyone is nostalgic for times past. Hey, this newspaper is devoting two issues to your memories. Retro is hip. We are all living "back in the day," as they say.
Antiques have never been bigger. People will overpay for water glasses their grandmother bought for 2 cents in the Depression era. Some folks search for yard sales and buy other people’s junk simply because it’s old. As the song goes, "everything old is new again."
South Philadelphians may even be more infatuated with the past than anyone else. The biggest myth down here is that we have never changed. And, in terms of the way the neighborhoods look, you might be fooled by the illusion, however deep down, we know better. Try going around the corner where you once hung and sang doo-wop in four-part harmony. It isn’t the same and never will be. Hence the devotion to nostalgia. In our obsession with the past, what we are really saying is things ain’t what they used to be. We’d all rather live in the past because, by now, we have romanticized our youth to the point where we really believe there was nothing like the good old days. The traumatic experience of growing up now just seems like one big party in retrospect. The zits, the fear of not being popular, the bully at school who would threaten us and steal our lunch — all are memories long since expunged. All we know is we grew to adulthood and never did wind up playing centerfield for the Yankees. And at least we didn’t have arthritis in those days or need a pill to make love.
By extension, everything in our past is seen through rose-colored glasses. They sure don’t write songs like "Sh-Boom" anymore. True — because not every song could find a rhyme for "hey nonnie ding dang, a bo bo bo ba zip." I’ll be in Wildwood this weekend for a family get together. It’s Doo-Wop Weekend in Wildwood (when wasn’t it Doo-Wop Weekend in Wildwood?). There will be no shortage of reveling in the past. We will all remind ourselves about how great things used to be as middle-aged do-wop groups are trotted out to sing songs like "Teen Angel" and Jerry Blavat prances around and calls everyone "yon teenagers," even though most of us are well past middle age.
Wildwood is intent on turning our nostalgia into a much-needed resurgence for the resort town.ut no matter how they recreate the past, it will never be the same for us because there is one essential ingredient missing — our youth.
The thing about today’s nostalgia craze is the time span has shortened for us to grow nostalgic. Songs a year old have already become "oldies." Films from a few years back are already "classics." The TV music channel, VH-1, is already celebrating the good old days way back in the 1990s. Huh??
I’m supposed to get all misty-eyed because Vanilla Ice has disappeared from the scene? If you doubt the thirtysomethings are already into nostalgia, just look at all the films being made from the TV shows of their youth — "The Brady Bunch," "The Dukes of Hazzard" and "Starsky and Hutch." Let’s just say there was no artistic reason for these remakes.
It’s not only our outrageous pursuit of memorabilia; even our clothes are affected by our quest for the past. Jeans and shirts are pre-washed and faded so they look old before they are sold. Live long enough and every style you suffered through before will come around again. TV commercials take advantage of our thirst for nostalgia. The background music for an automobile ad is the old tune "A Horse with No Name." Bob Dylan hawks Calvin Klein with his song "Love Sick." No, Bob, the times they are not a-changin’ because we just won’t allow it.
Maybe a lot of today’s obsession with the past is more than just a yearning for our youth. Maybe we just want to go back to the simpler times before 9/11. Suddenly Monica’s stained dress doesn’t seem so big a problem, in fact, it seems downright quaint when compared to the threat of terrorism or the horror of Katrina. If we could climb into a time machine right now, many of us would be happy just to go back to Sept. 10, 2001.
So, we wax sentimental about old ballparks and the days when milk was delivered to our doorstep in bottles. Our kids keep paying big prices to see the Stones, but notice their most requested songs are not the new ones. We’re caught in a time warp baby and we don’t want out. It’s too damn scary to live in the present so let’s travel back to a safer place.
After participating in the Doo-Wop Weekend, Tom Cardella is off next week, obviously resting his blue suede shoes.
