Anticipate the Wilting

The little one is in the back.  Second morning in a row she has been the first one to pile into the car.  Earliest one in usually names the tunes.  The morning ritual suggests that, unless neither girl can’t or won’t find something, they can pick the music.  “I’ve got it.” She offers.  I fiddle with the heater.  No matter what I do with it, there won’t be any impact till for the first five minutes of the drive, when you want it most. 

By the time the older one is seated, the younger one has “Turn Down For What?” playing out of her iPhone.  This appears to be just about the only line uttered in this song.  “We just heard that yesterday,” sighs the older one.   The younger one’s tastes predictably trail her older sister by about six months. By the time the younger one has the songs added to her playlist they’re yesterday’s news to the teenager in the car.

Next up, a song where the woman is insisting she is more beautiful than the girlfriend of the person to whom the song is directed.  She keeps repeating this over and over and then trying to rationalize why it’s tough being beautiful and why no one should hate her for being so hot.  She is “a ten” she claims.  Bile rises. I can’t help assert that this is a brainless thing to be singing about.  I state that it would be funny and indeed cool, if the person in point of fact had three nostrils and a flat frying pan face.  I already know, however that there is little ironic to this braggadocio.  And before I know it I’ve denigrated someone’s music once again.  I try to quiet down and listen, once again. 

My daughter informs me that this is “Pretty Girl Rock.”  Later I look up Pretty Girl Rock.  The song is sung by one Keri Hilson.  I found the video.  She does not have three nostrils and is objectively pretty.  I’m intrigued because the clip starts off with her as a Josephine Baker flapper and then skips two decades to cast her as an African American Andrew Sister.  But looking at her boasting, noting that she isn’t the youngest pop star out there, one can’t but help to anticipate the wilting and consider comeuppance looming in the corners of her face where crows’ feet are ready to clutch. “ahh well, a young woman, ain’t got nothing in the world these days.”

“Have a good day.”  Once I drop them off, I break out my iPhone and plug it in and turn up some loud Swedish rock and roll.  The music fills me as I overtake this Mercedes that is plodding ahead of me.