I had the distinct pleasure of receiving a crown a few days ago.
Not that kind of crown.
(Yeah, I know. A coronation would have made for a more interesting blog post.)
Alas, the crown was placed in my head. If only the preposition in that sentence were slightly different . . .
In fact, the crown bestowed upon me involved significantly less fanfare, scepters, goblets, turkey legs, and subservience from subjects.
It did, however, rank higher in the category of royally sharp pain.
To manage this pain – ultimately the consequence of lackluster flossing between teeth #14 and #15 – the good dentist suggested some nitrous oxide. That’s an offer that doesn’t need to be extended twice, even if my employee benefits only cover .000000001% of costs related to nitrous and other barbiturates.
So I settled into my reclined chair and, under a comically small nose mask, began my odyssey into traumatic dental work and late 20th-century rock. Classic rock radio station KZPS is the soundtrack for my dentist’s office.
A few deep breaths later, I giggled as the acoustic ceiling tiles began to shape shift and KZPS launched into its well-worn “classic rock lunch hour”.
The conditions wouldn’t exactly appear to be primo for listening. External competition for the music came from whirring drills, ringing phones, and discussions about insurance and area restaurants from the front desk. My overactive internal monologue and the loop of the dentist scene from Marathon Man playing in my head also created listening distractions.
But I not only heard the classic rock, I seemed to feel it at a deeper level. (That along with the intrusive crowning pursuits.)
Ironically, the nitrous served as an agent of clarity. It exposed some of the songs as thin and formulaic. Totally calculated. Joyless. And, in some cases, just plain silly. Like Dirty White Boy by Foreigner and Cherry Pie by Warrant.
Even a deep cut from Kansas Leftoverture and Great White Buffalo from Ted – two of my longtime favorites – came across as bland and uninteresting.
Yet the gas brought out the richness, layered complexity, and brilliance of songs like Houses of the Holy, Tush, and Won’t Get Fooled Again. I was struck by the passion and depth of these songs. Classic rock, indeed.
The nitrous enabled me to better define what makes a classic. Attention program director: The definition of classic should not be limited to a matter of time and popularity. (i.e. 20+ years old + Top 50 on the charts = classic.)
A true classic stands the test of laughing gas.
Of course this is a bit of a moot point, as KZPS changed formats Monday. Now the station is serving up “Lone Star Rock,” some hybrid of country and classic rock.
Assuming my dentist still has his tuner on 92.5 FM, I’ll see how Willie and Waylon stand the nitrous test next time I’m unceremoniously crowned and gassed.
