Arts ^Entertainment Monday, December 4, 1995 Page 9 Jeff Randall Finicky college fogy laments days gone by of good o 1’ 80s rock I’m getting old. OK, I know that at the ripe age of 19, I hardly have the right to count myself among the elderly. But I have good reason to do so. You see, I believe that the often mentioned generation gap has settled somewhere just behind me. Now I function as just another one of the crotchety old-timers who la ments the “no-talents” that proliferate in today’s music scene and waxes nos talgic for the “good old days.” Granted, my “good old days” may differ from what most consider to be worthy of nostalgia. For me, those days aren’t too far back. I remember the days when the Pix ies were still together. Now that was a band. Frank Black and the Breeders, as far as I’m concerned, are mere shadows of their former selves. I remember when Michael Stipe had hair, before R.E.M. began to rock out. They used to be such a pleasant ui u\jy a. That’s right, I’ll admit it. I don’t “get” a lot of the music on the radio these days. As far as I’m concerned, those “Lump” boys are in need of a good whoopin’, and that Alanis Morissette, I just don’t see the attrac tion. The most painful part of this expe rience for me is that, up until a year or so ago, I was often known to emphati cally declare that I would not be like my parents— I would accept the music of future generations as openly as I had my own. But here I am, still in the middle of the music of “my generation” and un able to stomach most of it. Sure, I like a few of the newer records. Oasis is a fine band, for ex ample. But that doesn’t change the fact that most of my record purchases in the last year have had “The Nice Price” stickers on their covers—you know, that sticker for pieces of music no one who isn’t living in the past would touch. Dear God, I said it—I’m living in the past. But it’s not all bad, after all. If it weren’t for the proli feration ofoverly nostalgic baby boomers, we wouldn’t have the Beatles or Elvis or even Jefferson Airplane to listen to today, we wouldn’t have “oldies” stations, we wouldn’t have “Solid Gold Satur day Night.” remaps mat is my tunction. It could be that I have been chosen to carry on the legacy of the Pixies, Ned’s Atomic Dustbin and maybe even Dexy’s Midnight Runners. Who am I ladding? I’ll never play a role in the preservation of the late ’80s/early ’90s musical legacy. I’m just an embittered curmudgeon who is attempting to deflect criticism of his closed musical mind with a false pre tense of historical significance. But I still have time and hope. Maybe I’ll turn on the radio right now, turn the dial to the “modem rock” station of my choice and have a listen. Maybe I’ll actually like some of its offerings. / This could be my last chance to salvage my desperate gasps for youth and all its livelihood. This could be it. Hootie and the what? Ewwww. Oh well, back to the drawing board. Randall is a sophomore news-editorial major and a Daily Nebraskan senior re porter. Courtesy of Rysher Entertainment John Travolta and Harry Belafonte share a moment in “White Man’s Burden,” a film in which the racial power balance is reversed. Film fails with mild approach to matter By Jeff Randall Film Critic With “White Man’s Burden,” director/screen writer Desmond Nakano has set up a film premise that has a lot of potential. —-s-He creates a world where MOVie the racial power balance as Rpuipur we know it in America has ncVIBW been reversed — blacks are me diuucm liiajuruy anu whites are the poverty-stricken minority. With this “Twilight Zone” styled situation,Nakano could have made one of this year’s most important films. But in stead, he opted for the mildest ui ajjjji uaciies