david dalpiaz dot com

There is a dilemma, and it involves emo. The music, the image, the lifestyle, all of it.

Now I realize the easiest way to make myself look like an aging, bitter guy who has stopped identifying with the youth is to simply dismiss the movement du jour, but I do not believe myself to be such a guy. In fact, I’ve made a poorly-concentrated effort to remain in tune with the TRL results, which, we all know, are really the results that matter. But emo is a little different. It’s inherently contradictory to the essence of rock’n'roll.

Rock’n'roll, of course, is decidedly masculine. I’m not nearly high enough to define what it is tonight, but I think it’s safe to assume it doesn’t involve being as weak as possible or taking the initiative to demonstrate one’s weakness musically. I doubt it. Mick Jagger might take issue with that. I think it’s probably more influenced by being as hardcore and as cool as is humanly possible. And also sex is involved. But why is enjoying emo music a sign of weakness, you ask?

I know a girl who apparently likes emo (music and guys) and here’s why I found I had a problem with that: there is no trait more stubbornly masculine than the suppression of legitimate emotional expression. The movies have taught us this. Your life is without the minimum level of drama to be of any import if your father wasn’t totally emotionally unavailable and, as a result, you were as well, probably. But let’s be serious: we all have feelings! The key is, in order to achieve a masculinity level sufficient enough to attract a female of adequate attractiveness, guys have to occasionally be stubbornly masculine. That’s our cross to bear, people, and we do it to strengthen ourselves.

It builds character.

So it would follow that this strength and powerful character would make us more attractive to mates. Somewhere along the way, though, this was perverted. Somewhere along the way, perfectly good women became attracted to weakness. Somewhere it was decided that whiny pain is more attractive than suppressed, internal pain. This is a affront to God. Or maybe Darwin. Probably Darwin, now that I think about it. This, at least, is a strike against emocrisy (coined.), in the event that it isn’t even considered rock’n'roll any more.

It certainly was back when it was called Pinkerton and it was good.

Oops, it seems I may be an aging, bitter guy after all.

On second thought, I suppose that whole androgyny craze was kind of the exact same thing. Forget I said anything.
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