Classic rock. What a genre. Radio enthusiasts across the world have grown up adoring the same bands, and an uncannily monotonous handful of their most overplayed songs. This is just how it is. What’s troubling is that these “expert” DJs are convinced each of these [said] bands had only a meager sample of memorably sonic moments. We hear the same songs over and again in a constant shuffle of doldrums-inducing swill.

The trouble is, without our early exposure to such a tiny snippet of the massive assortment of early rock mastery, our progression into adulthood would be about as complete and well rounded as a book report concocted by a video-game-obsessed, American fifth grader.

Growing up is hard to do. The youths of America are bombarded by daily hardships that can border on asinine. Honestly, our transposing from infancy to childhood, and childhood to adolescence (the ‘tween years’ included) are absurdly awkward, and can have lasting negative effects on the personality of the adult they wind up creating in the process.

While many a young adult does make their way through this gawky transition with relatively seamless gusto, and unabashedly brilliant trajectory, the rest of us are left to fend for ourselves with only a gratuitous amount of collective maladroit-ness usually reserved for character actors in 1980′s teen flicks.

Our saving grace (in a graceless experience) is the holistic inclusion of music which we use to soundtrack the adversity-laden years during which we “mature” from cartoon-loving simpletons into B-movie-quoting, vintage-clothes-donning “adults” who clog the miscellaneous speakeasies, dive bars, and social circles found throughout various metropolitan areas the world over.

No matter how much we insist upon denying it, our parents are largely responsible for our early appreciation of rock ‘n roll. Unless Ned Flanders, Billy Graham, or diehard St. Louis Cardinal fans brought you up, you had some relative exposure to Classic rock.

The very definition of this art form is slightly altered from year to year as we progress from generation to generation. The Beatles, Rolling Stones, and Led Zeppelin were once thought of as the “big three” amongst a slew of other noteworthy rock outfits that best represented the phenomenon. As a result of passing time, bands like R.E.M., The Smiths, and — gasp — Nirvana has meandered into the play lists middle-aged rock DJ’s conjure up to best encapsulate the “greatest hits” of the ever-receding past.

Now that we’re older (and wiser?) and at the sonically charged seas of our choosing, we are quick to dismiss any lingering ambition we have to listen to the bands we grew up adoring. Sure, there are exceptions, but who hasn’t rolled their eyes whilst sitting at a diner every time “Stairway to Heaven”, “Sympathy for the Devil”, or “Revolution” hits the airwaves on XM’s classic vinyl?

Don’t feel bad. You shouldn’t. It’s likely that you’ve heard each of these songs thousands of times, in hundreds of different situations, surrounded by dozens of different people you encountered throughout the haphazard course of your youth.

I’m with you. Though my respect for the artists that assisted the efficiency of my parent’s upbringing remains intact, it’s hardly necessary for me to remain on a station that insists upon playing only a handful of their most popular songs. This is a major reason why websites like Pandora have found so much success in this digital age. This way, those high school hippies whose “dead” heads are stuck in the past can customize play lists that would make their skull-n-roses’ donning parental units proud. The rest of us, who’ve grown out of our “Led Zeppelin only has four great songs” phase can liquidate our daily soundtracks with music we’ve grown to love based on our initial jaunts into the classic-era.

Without infancy, you cannot come into being. Without knowledge, you cannot wield power. Both truths are cheesier than a road trip through Wisconsin, but true nonetheless. It’s sort of ironic, and not in that “off the cuff Alanis Morisette sort of way.” Without the most overplayed songs from our parent’s favorite bands, our collective upbringing would have been about as fulfilling as a motion picture starring Rob Schneider. Now that our furtherance has changed us from pimple-laden youngsters into, uh, pimple laden taxpayers, we cast aside these tunes with eager abandon as we grasp onto our collection of “groundbreaking new bands” that seem to rise up everyday.

Human beings are disciples of repetitiveness and without hearing Aerosmith’s “Sweet Emotion”, The Doobie Brothers’ “Listen to the Music”, or The Doors’ “L.A. Woman”, a countless collection of times as children, the present legion of bands we adore and plug into everyday conversation may include the likes of The Spin Doctors, Fastball, or Semisonic, rather than The Arcade Fire, Deerhunter, or Spoon.

This is why kids can’t pilot two-wheeled bicycles without first mastering the maneuvering of big wheels, tricycles, scooters, and (eventually) bikes propped up by training wheels. The training wheels are off, and we have officially ridden off into the sunset to the beat of Sufjan Stevens’ “Chicago”, Bright Eyes’ “This is the First Day of My Life”, or The Whigs’ “Technology”, depending on your personal preference of course. I personally wouldn’t be caught dead “rocking out” to Bright Eyes. I’m more of a Pelican kind of dude.

Free will, bitches.

A lil’ “retro” lesson…