So tonight, in between watching “Survivor” and “CSI” on TiVo and wallowing in other popular culture activities, I’m loading some more music into my iTunes library. This way, my Top 25 will show my to be a more well-rounded person. Except: I realize that the pile of albums I’ve picked out so far mark me as a fossil — a real classic-rock FM kind of guy.
Already loaded: Bob Dylan — “Nashville Skyline” and “Highway 61 Revisited.” Bob Dylan and The Band — “The Basement Tapes.” B.B. King — “Blues is King.” Van Morrison — “St. Dominic’s Preview.” Frank Zappa — “Hot Rats.”
Still to come: James Taylor — yes, yes, I’m not holding anything back. The White Album. Let It Bleed. Jimi Hendrix.
What does any of it have in common? Virtually none of that stuff was recorded after 1969. I see in my stack still to go on the computer that I have a couple real hot recent numbers that spoil the trend — a Dire Straits compilation and an album from Susannah McCorkle, a wonderful jazz singer who met a tragic end a few years back.
But for the most part, it’s like my ears and musical taste ossified at age 15.