Rock of Ages

When I was young, I loved award shows. I’d make a whole night of it: popcorn, blanket, glued to my TV, being stupidly excited when my favorites won and appalled when they didn’t.

Especially music awards.

In the days before algorithms, the best songs went global pretty much on their own. We didn't agree on politics, religion, or whether Coke was better than Pepsi (it definitely is).

But the right song would have us all with our hands in the air, singing like we 'just didn't care'.

Except for the ones arguing it wasn't real music, that is.

We'll always have those people.

That being said, I recently watched the Grammys with my family. My biggest thrill wasn’t even watching the performances, but recognizing half the artists without the kids having to tell me.

I get the same rush when I find my reading glasses on my own.

I’m not old-old, but I can see it from here. Because I was watching through my very middle-aged eyes, fully aware that I'm no longer the target demographic for these events and actively trying not to judge the outfits, the dancing, or whatever the hell some of that was.

Which means I'm dangerously close to accidentally becoming one of those people.

Which is frustratingly inconvenient, because my entire schtick is based on not being that person.

There were some…interesting outfits that night.
There were some…even more interesting dance moves.

Felt like a lot of ass and cheeks all over my TV.

Several dudes with no shirts, and Bieber performing in socks and underpants. It just felt like too many nipples for an awards show.

Which, okay, it's performance. Whatever, you do you, boo.
But maybe not while I’m sitting on the couch with the fam, m’kay?

Someone asked me if Sabrina Carpenter was singing live.
“Yeah”, I said. “You can see the mic pack on her back.”
“I don’t see it.”
“Look up, dear.“ I replied.

I’m not a prude or a hater. If I had Sabrina Carpenter’s ass, I’d be absolutely insufferable.

And I know that shock-value outfits are part of the experience. JLo walked so Chappell Roan could run (but now I can’t help but picture her trying to run without ripping off a nipple in that dress…yowch.)

I understand art being art, but some of it looks uncomfortably chafing.

We chair-danced to Leon Thomas and rooted for Alex Warren’s Ordinary, watching him crush it despite the major technical issues.  

Eventually, I had to surrender to my bedtime ('cause I get up at an hour usually meant for truckers and farmers).

I caught up the next day with the awards and the memorial tribute with Reba (is it terrible that I didn’t love her song?).

The Ozzy tribute with Post Malone, Slash, Duff, and Chad Smith both warmed and broke my little metalhead heart. Watching Sharon and the kids crying in the front row was rough, knowing that despite their complicated lives, he was still their whole world.

Not exactly what I was prepared for when I intended to halfheartedly watch an awards show.

My Gen Z daughter’s experience watching the show was, of course, somewhat different than mine – she gets way excited about artists that I frankly don’t get.

I’m watching, but in my head I’m thinking, is this what’s cool now? Seriously?

Which is probably what my mother thought when I was singing along with Alice in Chains.

My daughter and I don’t agree on everything: trends, social issues, what “five minutes” means. But we always agree on great music.

Except for most K-pop. I said what I said.

Anyway, she’s now obsessed with ‘80s rock thanks to her current Stranger Things era, and is now convinced that she was born in the wrong decade.

She silently resents me for my timing, and I’m like, child, I was eight years old in 1983. I was into Cabbage Patch Kids and He-Man cartoons.

But clearly, I have evolved.

Her most recent prized possession is a Mötley Crüe 1987 tour shirt. A reproduction, obviously, but she wears it like she was there.

Which, to me, is actually pretty cool. In my pre-teen days, listening to hard rock or heavy metal was heavily frowned upon in my neck of the woods.

Trust me, the Satanic Panic was real.

Looking back, I realize most of that was too much hairspray and eyeliner. Some "rebellion". I see the same issue at PTA meetings.

I consider myself pretty eclectic, but I favor rock because at its core, there's no choreography or whatever, just a general sense of "let's see if we can pull this off."

For me, it was Bon Jovi and Def Leppard blasting from boomboxes in school hallways.
It was Guns N’Roses feeling dark and dangerous to a certain teenager who thought Axl Rose was sex on a stick.

It was Metallica and Judas Priest and Motörhead, and it was definitely Ozzy.

This is but a slim cross-section of what I consider my cultural baseline for a reason: the music ages well, and the messages are still relevant.

Both things I also hope to achieve.

So now, my daughter does the dinner dishes at night with her AirPods in, headbanging to songs that were already getting old when I was young.

Meanwhile, I’m Googling lyrics and asking things like “But why Gnarly? That used to mean something bad back in the day. Why the hell are they singing about boba tea and fried chicken?

She just shakes her head at me, much in the way I used to dismiss my own mother.

At this year's awards, Yungblud accepted his first Grammy while proclaiming that "rock music's f***ing coming back."

I'm a fan, but kiddo, I have to argue that rock never f***ing left.

As I said, every generation thinks their's is the one creating the pinnacle of music and entertainment.

Mine does. My daughter's do, my mother’s definitely did.

So my girl pretends to listen to my lectures on what ‘real music’ is, and I humor her when she shows me TikToks of artists named things like Lil' Nebula Pajamas.

But someday, if I’m ever watching Lil' Nebula Pajamas accepting a Grammy, I hope it’s a least for something we can dance along to in the living room.

And that I don’t see LNP’s nipples anywhere.

 Related Reads:

• Age Against The Machine - The difference between getting older and getting old.
• GenX is Not Okay Right Now - We lost three icons in less than a week. And Gen X felt every bit of it.

Heather Papovich is a long-form essayist and cultural writer whose work examines real life through the lens of popular culture.

She is the founder of Unfinished Business, an independent digital publication blending personal narrative with cultural commentary, currently read in 33 verified countries.

Her writing focuses on reinvention, emotional truth, and the many ways film and long-running franchises help people navigate identity, connection, and meaning.