Halsey's Invisible Cello and My Invisible Debate Team

Lately, I’ve been getting more and more into the music of Halsey.

  

It’s the kind of pop music that people are “supposed to” like these days – electronic beats, palatable lyrics, verse-chorus-bridge song structure, pleasant melodies – and I like the music not in spite of this, but because of it. 

It would fit right in on the TouchTunes playlist at the Oak Tavern, it would fit on the stereo of the hair salon under my apartment that’s always playing Sam Smith and Hozier, it would fit as the muzak at Kenwood Towne Center, it would fit on the “sexy” playlist you’d put on Spotify if you want to make out and have it awkwardly interrupted by Spotify commericals. 

All this, and Halsey's album is something I actually enjoy listening to. That deserves a prize.

But I was kind of bummed when I read Halsey's blurb in Rolling Stone. In the midst of plenty of other interesting tidbits (she writes songs "about sex and about being sad" - what more do you need?) there was an anecdote about playing the cello as a teenager (It's in RS 1243 - Sept 10 2015 but not online, so I had to transcribe it...)

Growing up, Halsey played violin, viola and cello until she was 14 and decided "that wasn't cool anymore."

 I instantly found myself annoyed when I read that - not just as a music teacher, not just as a person who plays a stringed instrument, but as someone who, as a core principle, thinks it's categorically ridiculous to deny yourself life experiences based on whether or not they're "cool".

Has she sufficiently distanced herself from that teenange mentality? I thought about how Halsey is part of a generation that barely remembers 9/11, how she probably had an IPad in high school, how she probably never remembers a time without computers, and how nineties kids are better, and to hell with everything.

And then I remembered myself at the age of fourteen.

My freshman year of high school, I was encouraged to join the debate team. A few teachers saw that I was good at writing and arguing and told me to check it out. My parents strongly encouraged me to do so.

And I didn't do it.

I thought that the debate club carried a negative stigma as being for "nerds". (This was right before I got braces next year, which - privilege check - was probably the most devastating thing to happen to me in high school.) I thought that the deck was already stacked against me because I wore glasses and wasn't good at sports. I needed all the help I could get to avoid being labeled a "geek", because once that happened, I would be singled out for it, and there was no hope for my high school experience!

My parents badgered me several times to consider the debate team, but I refused.

To this day, I love writing and arguing, and I surround myself with people who love the same. But what if, in my formative years, I had spent even more time doing the thing that I loved, surrounded by people who loved the same? I missed out, because I was worried it wasn't cool.

It's pointless to reflect on "what might have been" and assume it would have been better. I'm writing and arguing plenty, despite my silly teenage refusal to get an early start. Halsey is making awesome music even without her cello. Would things magically be any better? Maybe the debate club would have gotten hit by a bus, and then that same bus would have taken a stop at Halsey's school so she would have gotten hit by a bus while carrying her cello.

Halsey is making fine music, I'm doing a fine job of writing and arguing. None of us are hit by a bus.

Things are what they are right now. We can't change the past, but we can learn from it. I solemnly vow not to make decisions based on how "cool" they'll seem.

Or, perhaps, I should solemnly vow not to judge an artist as "cool" or "not cool" because of their popularity, because of their presence on jukeboxes, because of what they say in interviews - but simply on the merits of the music.

On that note: