With their unique pen and their own sensitivity, artists present their vision of the world around us. This week we’re giving columnist and author Olivier Niquet free rein.
Posted at 1:04 am. Updated at 09:00
Olivier Niquet Special Collaboration
I like going to concerts. And when I say concert, I’m talking about events that move a little more than the Boucherville Symphony Orchestra or the Magog Opera. I like artists who are generous with their energy and decibels and encourage the audience to let go. I sometimes shake my hips myself, or at least nod enthusiastically. It is the widest measure that my self-esteem will allow.
I’ve been going to shows like this since I was young, and it’s only recently that I’ve noticed a certain inadequacy between myself and the rest of the public. That said, I have white hair and feel like I stand out from the crowd that comes to a post-punk quartet or a singer who isn’t even 30 years old. Is there a maximum age for discovering new artists? How not to look like an old man who wants to look young, aside from not filming said concerts with an iPad?
I could dye my hair, but since it has never happened in human history that a man with dyed hair is mistaken for anything other than a man with dyed hair, I’m afraid it will rub off on my image. I could get a tattoo of one of the favorite words our young people say all the time. “Wesh”, “Quaicoubeh” or “After my game”. But the language is evolving so fast that I would risk “passing the date” even sooner. I could also roll and roll, wear cutex or oversized pants to look cool, but the trick would be too obvious.
It’s becoming more and more common for me to experience those moments of clarity where I realize I’m the age I am: 44 years old. I imagine that the phenomenon increases with age. I was recently in a pub in Rouyn-Noranda, in the shadow of the chimneys, when I began to tell an anecdote about a comedian from Watatatow. The five twenty-somethings sitting at my table quickly made it clear from their blank looks that we weren’t from the same era.
At that moment, I could easily have fallen into the trap of those who say that young people today have no culture. It’s not that they don’t have a culture, they just don’t have the same culture. You don’t know Watatatow as well as I do, I don’t know La Ribouledingue.
I’ve gotten to a point where I sometimes have to realize that I’m not my age anymore, but I’m not the only one.
A 2006 Danish study found that adults over 40 feel about 20% younger than they actually are. That would make me mentally about 35 years old, an age when it’s still acceptable to hang out in the mosh pit of an Australian garage rock concert without looking like a dog in a bowling alley. That would explain why so many people, in order to do justice to their inner youth, have their face renewed.
Conversely, the study also found that, on average, those under 25 felt older than they actually were. They no doubt consider themselves more independent, wiser and more solid than their age would suggest. This means that in Rouyn we were actually six thirty-somethings and not one forty-something and five twenty-somethings. The same applies to our subjective age (and our arsenic consumption). So I was only given away by my reference to a 1990s teen show. And through the white hair.
Of course there are exceptions to this rule. Social media brings up an impressive number of people who have the mental age of a 5-year-old child, but whose avatar suggests they are a middle-aged woman, man, or kitten. Conversely, some are so attached to their 19th-century ideas that they seem to be 154 years old in their heads. There are even those whose job it is in the media today to complain about the ideals of youth.
The perceived age therefore does not always reflect one’s own appearance. By seeing ourselves younger than we are, we probably want to trick ourselves into believing that we’re still relevant and useful. I know young, old people who have chosen not to get on the Internet train because they think the fashion will pass. Conversely, my 101-year-old grandmother was still on Facebook not so long ago.
There’s no harm in staying in the past as long as you don’t reject everything in the present. There’s no harm in favoring the present if we’re also interested in the past.
It seems many at some point decided to stick with the music they listened to when they were 20. All the better for Madonna and the Rolling Stones who continue to surf it. I like exploring original bands, emerging artists and new styles, even if it makes me look like an old man who thinks he’s young.
It’s easy to tie our likes to a past that feels better to us, but there are walls between generations that shouldn’t exist. That’s why I’m trying to at least break the sound barrier.