Is this classic rock, now?

The scene was as sad as it was sincere. Thousands packed into the first outdoor concert since the pandemic. Middle-aged, middle class middle Americans swayed to the rhythm, their bodies accessing a muscle memory long dormant. On the ground below, zoomers gossiped the latest drama in their lives, aware of but not engaged with the overpowering bassline. Both parents and kids sported appropriately optimistic tattoos: intricate butterflies, inspirational words, and ironic cartoon characters circling personally meaningful dates. Some were more faded than the others.

“I smell that marijuana!" came from the stage to middling applause.

In any other year, that’d be a celebration of audience rebellion by the man with the guitar. But as of the first of the month weed became legal, and with legality the drug’s stigma was destroyed.

While the parents smoked the only way they knew how, puffing on tightly rolled joints, the zoomers hit their individual vape pens with a nonchalance only historical privilege can understand.

The concert-stoner subculture had changed overnight from a defiant, and even endearing, celebration of freedom to an outdated, cliché, and boring self-commodification for those misguided teens mistaking “Made in China" tie-dyed weed-leaf t-shirts with an actual personality.

The drums kicked back in for the next three minute reggaesque indulgence written 10 years before half the audience was born. Those wishing to escape back into their youth smiled and resumed swaying; those actually in their youth continued their indifference.

For Gen X and Gen Y, now greying adults, the most normalcy they’d experienced in over a year was the massive line wrapping around the perimeter. Was it for beer or the portapotty? Did it matter?

The concert experience was now half-listening and half-chaperoning, even for the cool moms and dads determined to wear the same outfit they wore the first time they saw the band 25 years ago. They sat quietly in their camping chairs, Marlboro Golds slinging down the side pouch — another reminder of the once-subversive, now mundane culture they helped form.

Aged rebels, complete with ponytails, nose rings, and band patches, happily led their five year old sons back to their seats…