T
here's always an open question, when it comes to the art we consume in our youths, to what extent we are blinded by nostalgia when we look back on them with great appreciation.
As I, for some reason, care a lot about my personal taste in art, for a long time I was somewhat haunted by the idea that I wouldn't be able to tell good from bad on some of the most meaningful pieces of music or movies or books that changed me as a young person. Maybe I was wasting my time with completely mediocre works!
I've had the opportunity in the past couple of years to revisit a lot of the music and stories that defined my youth, and as I start to piece things together, I actually think that nostalgia might not be the overwhelming force I've been led to believe. There are plenty of things that I adored as a kid that, as we say, "did not hold up". Balto? Not nearly as good as I remembered. The Matrix? Better than I thought even at the time. The soundtrack to Spirit? Still stirs me emotionally, but I can tell it's not really great music. The fact is that when I look back on old things that I loved, some of it is good, and some of it is bad, which is exactly what I'd expect to find "objectively". It does not look like a flawless landscape of perfect artwork, which is what the magic of nostalgia "should" be doing to me.
This realization has really freed me up to genuinely appreciate David Gray's album White Ladder. Every time I put that record on, it slays. It does take me right back to our little family house in Rindge, New Hampshire; but it also stands on its own as great pop music. It's nice to still have it around.