Growing Up in the 70s

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As children of the 70s, we had it hard.

First of all, we knew that we had, by just a few years, missed what was clearly the coolest decade in the history of time, the 1960s.

Second, our fashion moment coincided with the discovery and widespread proliferation of the most unfortunate of fabrics, polyester. And I'm talking early, really cheap polyester. Thankfully, our mother insisted on buying all our clothes at classic department stores---we didn't have many clothes, but we had good ones---so our exposure to polyester was merely visual, not tactile. But still. Retinal memory is long.

Third, we were squished in that generation between traditional family structure and revised family structure (for lack of a better word), where women had started to have opportunities but sometimes didn't know how to handle the resentment of the inequality that remained (you know, they worked 8 hours, but were still responsible for housework). The traditional moms tried to do it all and just about broke down. Other moms gave up on the traditional role altogether and were lulled into thinking that their selfishness was a great individualizing virtue. Divorce skyrocketed, and after-school specials followed. Children lost their sense of security, wondering if their family could be next.

Did I mention the after-school specials? Featuring charmless actors like Kristy McNichols, whose talent lay precisely in portraying truly realistic teenagers of her time?

But worst of all, by far, was the music. Now, there was a lot of great music made in the 70s: Led Zeppelin, later Stones, funk, Heart, even the best of disco . . . But I am convinced that in no other decade was as much bad, depressing music made. Not just bad music---DEPRESSING, DEPRESSING music. Let me just give you a virtual jukebox of the 70s here, at its worst:

Cats in the Cradle: Family alienation set to music.
The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down: Southern despair.
Seventeen: Suicide on a 45.

Almost worse were the often chipper "novelty" songs that flooded our soundwaves with their sense of profound artistic purposelessness:

Henry the Eighth: You know, "Henn-er-y the Eight I am I am! Henn-er-y the Eigth I am!!"
Lord's Prayer: Can you hear it? "Our Father . . . Who Art in Heaven . . . Hallowed by thy name!"
Convoy: The tune that brought trucker CBing to life!
The Hustle: "Do the Hustle!! Doo doo doo doo doo doo-doo doo doo, Doo doo doo doo doo doo-doo doo doo, Doo doo doo doo doo doo-doo doo doo, Doo doo doo doo doo doo-doo doo doo, Do the Hustle!"

Then, lord help us, the easy listening:

Wildfire
Welcome Back (theme from "Welcome Back Kotter")
Raindrops Keep Fallin' On My Head
The Morning After
Mandy
the entire Dionne Warwick repetoire

Even the good music was depressing. Ever heard these?

Nights in White Satin (Moody Blues)
Killing Me Softly (Roberta Flack)
The Carpenters (yes, I have listed this under Good Music)
After Hours, by Rickie Lee Jones (in fact, most of her debut album, which is brilliant but almost as suicide-inducing as Janis Ian)

It's my conclusion, after reviewing the historical evidence, that any "reparations" to be made by the federal government to historically disadvantaged peoples should be made first to the children of the 70s. Other groups have suffered more, but at least they had good music to get them through. I'm not asking you to sign a petition now. Just consider it.
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