You've Got to Have Money (To Have a Midlife Crisis)

A friend of mine recently bought a triathlon bike that cost over three thousand dollars. I was impressed by the expenditure, but relatively speaking, it's pretty cheap for a midlife purchase. In fact, his wife had absolutely no problem with the amount he spent (though she did claim that "nothing on earth has less purpose than a forty year old man.") Sarcasm aside, triathlons will keep you in shape, and they are far safer than motocross. As far as midlife crises go, buying a nice bicycle is pretty tame.

Now a cigarette boat or a high-performance car is going to run quite a bit more than a high-end bicycle, and there's more inherent danger. None of my middle-aged friends have made a purchase this bold. And it's not that I don't think they're capable of it, I just don't think they have the money. Sadly, the archetypal male midlife purchase is going the way of the dinosaur. Why? You could blame it on the weak economy and the collapse of the housing market. Or you could attribute it to changing gender roles. Women are often the main breadwinners of the family, or at least pulling in equal pay. And women don't covet cigarette boats. Perhaps people aren't as ostentatious about their materialism these days. And, of course, there's the rising cost of college. It's hard to buy a dune-buggy when you've only saved .1% of your children's tuition. These are rough times for expensive impulse buys that demonstrate machismo.

There are still wonderful stories of midlife excess from people who have money to burn.  James Hetfield took a  vodka-clouded bear hunting trip to Siberia. He missed his son's first birthday party. Whoops! But most of the guys I know buy a Bose bluetooth speaker or some high-end tequila and call it a day.

And then there's the final level, which is really expensive. I'm talking mistress level midlife crisis. Very few folks in my crowd have the balls and wherewithal of Roger Sterling. I don't know a single dude who puts up a "gumad" in a city apartment, so she's always at his disposal. Where have all the good times gone?

I labor over any purchase, so this is purely hypothetical . . . but if I were to do it, I think I would go with something fairly cliche. A motorcycle, chopper style. This is not going to happen, of course, since I live in central New Jersey, and riding a motorcycle on the roads I travel is akin to suicide, but if I lived out West and a rich aunt left me some money, I imagine I'd spend it on something like this:

I doubt I could handle the motorcycle and I certainly couldn't handle the accessory, but a man has to dream.

I learned something vaguely related to this theme recently from some colleagues. It seems -- and this is a total generalization based on anecdotal evidence -- that people around my age (43) don't have college debt. People a few years younger do. These people with college debt are from middle class families -- just like mine-- but they missed the cut-off (just as many of us missed the cut-off for good pensions, cheap land, strong unions, collective bargaining and early retirement). This cohort is definitely not going to make any crazy purchases when they hit middle age, because when they finally get out of debt, they'll need the money for a house, a new car, or home improvements. This is the new middle class. Doesn't seem fair, but, course, there's more than two billion people living on two dollars a day, so it's hard to complain that you can't get that jet-pack you've always wanted.

All this depressing stuff may sound like ridiculous fodder for a song, but The Moving Rocks are always up for a challenge. Enough introduction, it's time for some music:




You've Got to Have Money (To Have A Midlife Crisis)

You wake up most mornings, feeling lost.
You cannot lose those stubborn thoughts.

But you woke up this morning, feeling found.
You could not wait to get your feet on the ground.

You woke up this morning, with an idea.
Buy a motorcycle and ride out of here.
Buy a motorcycle and ride on out of here.

But it's not that kind of song.
If you think so, then you're so fucking wrong.

Because you've got to have money to have
a midlife crisis. Yes, you've got to have money to have
a midlife crisis.

You've got to have some cash to burn,
the only way a grown man learns.

Wake up most mornings, you feel like dirt.
Put on your pants and go to work.

Maybe someday you'll pay off your loans,
until then you're stuck at home . . .

Because you've got to have money to have
a midlife crisis. Yes, you've got to have money to have
a midlife crisis.

The Moving Rocks Roll On

For quite a while now, my fans have been requesting a song about community college. And not community college like on the show Community. Real community college. So I took them up on the offer, and though I don't like to brag (actually, I do like to brag . . . but it's because I have self-esteem issues, so it's okay) but I think this may be the most rocking song about community college ever written. It may also be the only rock song with the word "registrar" in it. It is definitely the only rock song with the word "bacteriophage" in it.

This song-- like the one I recorded a few months ago (Cutter) -- is definitely inspired by Hanna Rosin's book The End of Men and the Rise of Women.  I am starting to think that Team Male is in serious trouble. Read the book to learn why, but all I can say is: we've had our turn, and we really fucked things up good, so maybe the women will do a better job. Maybe things will end up like Charlotte Perkins Gilman imagined. Boring, but peaceful. In the interim, things will be like this:




Brittany's Going Back to School

Brittany got pregnant at her high school prom,
raised up the baby with some help from her mom.
Twelve years later and the kid is getting old,
wants her own phone and a closet full of clothes

She was making ends meet, working at the bar,
but working at the bar won't get you too far.

She's got to take a trip to the registrar.

Brittany's going back to school.
Community college never looked so cool.
No drunken parties on the lawn.
She's got to commute home, to relieve her mom.

And she just wants to pass.
She caught her Calc teacher checking out her ass.
All these kids seem half her age.
She needs to define bacteriophage.

And if you're wondering where the dad went,
I'll give you a hint.
He's playing Call of Duty in Tim Kerr's basement.
That's where he went.

He really wants to lend a helping hand, be a good man.
But he's trying to so hard to make it in his punk rock band.
At least that's the plan . . .

And Brittany's going back to school.
Community college never looked so cool.
No drunken parties on the lawn.
She's got to commute home, to relieve her mom.

Bacteriophage: a type of virus that infects bacteria

The Moving Rocks (The World's Second Greatest Rock and Roll Band)

I have decided that my new fictitious band name will be The Moving Rocks (The World's Second Greatest Rock and Roll Band), because the origin of this name is so incredibly cute that groupies will be throwing themselves at me when they hear the story.

The Moving Rocks also adheres to Principal Skinner's rule of thumb for a band name: something that sounds "witty at first, but seems less funny each time you hear it." You might remember Apu's perfect suggestion for Homer's band: "The Be Sharps." REO Speedwagon was also a big fan of this heuristic (You Can Tune a Piano, But You Can't Tuna Fish). Same with The The.

The Moving Rocks newest song is definitely inspired by this theme, and not only have The Talking Heads had an influence on the lyrics, but also the recording method. I made this recording after reading David Byrnes' book How Music Works, and used the classic Talking Heads method to create the track: I started by making beats and keyboard loops and interlocking them in various patterns until I got something I liked. Then I started writing lyrics and adding guitars over the beats and loops. It's the reverse of how I usually record, and it was a lot of fun.




Many Lives

You are living one of many lives, yes, you are giving flowers to your wife . . .
You are sipping glasses of champagne, you are selling watches in the rain.

You are living one of many lives, you are giving flowers to your wife . . .
You are tricking in a squalid room, you are shifting shuttles on a loom.
And you are dancing in a discotheque, you are diving deep beneath a wreck.
You are living in another time, you are thinking of another rhyme.

And the dogs they know and the cats they know,
and the bats they know and the rats they know . . .
what you don't know.

That you are living one of many lives, you are shaving whiskers with a knife;
keeping under wraps in Vietnam, singing lyrics to a foreign song.
You are stranded on a tropic beach, words and phrases just beyond your reach,
you are standing in ancient sea, your reflection staring back at me.

All the while you are sinking down, digging deeper into sacred ground,
ants are marching through your ragged bones, beetles feeding on your rotten clothes.

Yes, you are living one of many lives and the dogs they know . . .

Now you're winking at a pretty girl, on a cruiser circling the world.
You are drinking coffee with the pope, you are jabbing in the rope-a-dope.
Cargo sails from a  foreign port, a man in Denmark scratches at his wart.
Mirror mirror hanging on the wall, how come I've got no invite to the ball?

And the dogs know and the cats know and the bats know and the rats know
and the wind knows and the tides know and the moon knows and the flies know . . .
What you don't know.