"Consequences, Shmonsequences ... As Long As I'm Rich."
by Your Diva, Robin Pastorio-Newman

Recently, on the Discovery Channel's "Great Chefs", a personality-deficient gourmet prepared Steak and Lobster Roulade garnished with shoestring potatoes. Chef quickly seared the steak on all four sides, explaining the dish functioned best with a medium to medium rare doneness. A minute later, Chef sliced the steak on the bias, revealing red, cool meat perhaps closer to tartare than roulade. Great Chef's dispassionate narrator intoned, "It's obvious that - like beauty - medium rare is in the eye of the beholder."
 
As the Monday morning migration of coeds in intramural lacrosse sweats signals the end of weekend in a college town, so the new baby song signals the end of a rock star's sex&drugs&rock'n'roll career. Bruce Springsteen's new singles mention his children. While the Boss still sounds like the Boss, he's capitulated to the demands of babysitters, kindergarten and Mommy & Me. This raises an interesting question: is there a place for the family in rock music?
 
Over the weekend, Your Darling, Your Diva, Your One True Love and a merry band of compatriots took a road trip from New Brunswick to Upstate New York, a few hundred miles in which to monitor the culture. This is harder than you might think with a car full of men and women between the ages of 25 and 40. We couldn't even agree that we all hated Morrissey. If you can imagine.
 
We did agree on a loathsome list of domesticated new baby classic rock-cum-easy listening songs. So to speak. Note that these songs brought a gentle tear to the eyes of your grandparents. Brace yourselves:
 
"Danny's Song" by Kenny Loggins: Dear God, a fitting punishment for this syrupy goo never crossed the mind of Torquemada.
 
"Beautiful Boy" by John Lennon: Let us be grateful this child wasn't triplets. ("Hey Jude" was someone else's a pep talk with John's other, neglected kid.)
 
"This Woman's Work" by Kate Bush: Pregnancy may be more melodic than swollen ankles and morning sickness. Who knew?
 
"Forever Young" by Rod Stewart: Vomitrocious.
 
"You're Having My Baby" by Paul Anka: Truly one of most nauseating ditties ever composed, and let's not get started on that possessive pronoun problem.
 
At this yak-inducing point, we changed the subject, swallowed fistfuls of Pepto and switched to a Salsa station since none of us spoke Spanish.
 
At least the still-amusing-but-so-sucktastic Steven Tyler never regaled us with the singular wonders of the youthful Liv, and "Janie's Got A Gun" sounds by comparison with the above like the ballad of an enterprising lass with a steady trigger finger.
 
Rock and roll is hedonism, love and bitterness, politics, and mostly self-involved. Music is the soundtrack of your life. Some lives include kids. But Rock isn't about consequences - that's country music. Maybe if you're a rock star with an itch to extoll the virtues of Kindercare, it might be time to get a gun permit and a dawg.
 

©2002 Robin Pastorio-Newman