A sea of men with salt-and-pepper hair down to their waists roamed the crowd below my overpriced VIP riser seats, many of them trailing ladies in leather miniskirts with teased '80s hair that stood a solid foot from their scalps, ready to hop on the hood of any nearby Corvette with an albino snake should the opportunity arise.
They say rock 'n' roll will never die, and in a terrifying way, that's real. Every song you ever heard is captured in the time you heard it, no matter how long you continue to drink from the wrong cup in that cave with the old Templar Knight. So when the opportunity arises to see a band no one thought would ever play together again after 1995, what happens is you get people like me who can still bend over to tie their shoes without assistance and a sea of others who can't eat hard cheese before bedtime. They were totally awesome when the songs came out originally, but now they're taking heart medicine while they do their shots.
Kevin Winter/Getty Images for Coachella
I see you, Richard Fortus.
I'm not saying it's wrong for old people to like any kind of music. You rock out to some Waka Flocka if you need to, grandpa. It's just that many of them seem to have not left the time in which they first heard that music, and it becomes weird, like when your parents tried to be hip and maybe started rapping at the dinner table one time when you were in high school and you thought your brain might start bleeding at any moment.