I just went to a Kenny Loggins concert — voluntarily.
I went to a Kenny Loggins concert last weekend. I should clarify: I sat front row and had the time of my life at a Kenny Loggins concert last weekend.
That should invoke within me a serious crisis of confidence, right? I think what scared me the most from the entire event was how little I was scared, how the usually high levels of panic inside my brain were serenely low, peacefully moving along to the tunes of generic ‘80s music. I’m pretty sure I should’ve been questioning my entire life up unto that point, but instead I was dancing with the lady next to me.
Three days later and I’m left to wonder where my usual feelings of existential crisis went. I think I might have left them somewhere along the Highway to the Danger Zone.
Kenny Loggins is an American legend. He may have peaked before I was even an idea in my parent’s heads, but that’s the thing about good music: it persists.
These days all my peers care about are beats that drop, rappers that brag about their sexual conquests and music that sounds like a malfunctioning personal computer from the ‘90s. Perhaps the last true barometer of good music is the way it hits an old person’s ears.
Some guy at the concert was holding up his cane and dancing in ecstasy to “Return to Pooh Corner.” I didn’t have a cane with me, because I’m 22 and my legs are still amazingly operable, but if I did, I would’ve been doing the same thing. Pooh Corner is an absolute jam. Kenny Loggins is like 65, a proud member of the AARP and he could technically be my grandpa, but give that guy a guitar and magic happens.
Kenny Loggins has no shortage of classic hits, including songs from “Top Gun”, “Footloose” and the inane car rides of my adolescent trips to daycare. My friend and I were the youngest people there by 20 years, and the people in the audience looked at us like we were behind glass enclosures.
But guess what? It felt awesome out there on the edge. My friends, who were shocked that I’d wanted to see a dorky singer from the Ice Age, laughed at me for two straight months. I knew I was supposed to be embarrassed with my Friday night decision, but a thought dawned on me somewhere between “Danny’s Song” and “Whenever I Call You Friend”: Why should I care?
I like Kenny Loggin’s music. It makes me happy. You’re right, he doesn’t make the beat drop or have non-arthritic limbs, but why do we always make such a big deal out of having to fit into predetermined cultural phenomena instead of diverting from the norm and embracing what makes us uniquely joyful? Being counter-cultural for the sake of being counter-cultural is hipster and dweeby, but suppressing your singular preferences to align with what’s currently in is perhaps even worse. Go to a concert with old people, dance with people holding M-F vitamin containers, do whatever the heck you want. Throw caution to the wind, live on the Highway to the Danger Zone.
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Follow Ben Holcomb on Twitter: @BenjaminHolcomb
As published in the Sept. 26 issue of the Pepperdine Graphic.
