And the Winner Is . . .

A friend and former student of mine just posed a question on Facebook: Who is the best songwriter of the last twenty years?

I've been thinking about this for three days and it's difficult to say -- not because I haven't liked any songs in the last twenty years, but because I'm not sure that I can think of a lot of actual songwriters who have written over that period, outside of the established ones (like Elton John, who is doing some of his best work ever, even though there is not a lot of buzz about it).

What it comes down to, for me, is that there are three kinds of people who put together songs.

"And I Ran" (from 80s Pop Culture)

Whether we like it or not, we are all products of the time in which we grew up. Some of us cling to those times with the warmest fondness. Some of us don't. I don't.

The eighties were about as opposite to my own heart-of-hearts as a decade can get. In a candy-colored, shiny, ostentatious, flamboyant, synthetic, pop-driven time, I was a kid who read Sherlock Holmes stories, listened to orchestral music and progressive rock and who longed for the warm colors of fall and the pure, deep, pensive silence of winter.

In terms of ambiance, Easter: No. Thanksgiving: Yes.

The pop culture of the eighties was cold and insincere to me. The music seemed empty and over-produced and even the standard of beauty for women seemed cold and harsh. Every model was six feet tall and rail-thin with angry slashes of blush and eye-shadow like electric storm clouds.