Generational taste: how music, cinema, and literature shape our conversations
We all know someone whose opinions about music, books, or films carry weight. When the chat centers on older recordings, novels, or movies from 20, 30, or 40 years ago, they deliver judgments with a confidence that suggests deep literacy in these arts. The phrase “Music isn’t made the same anymore” often punctuates the debate about whether today’s artists surpass or fall short of those from decades past. From Woodstock to Primavera Sound; from Lillian Fishman of the Beatnicks to Spielberg, and from Daniel Kwan to Daniel Scheinert, the spectrum of landmarks seems to span only half a century. It’s a tiny sneeze for art history, but a vast universe for sociology.
Neurologists and sociologists debate the theory, while internet publishers test it with data: some people loop the same songs again and again, while others resist new writers by turning back to familiar classics, or they binge on a dedicated film channel and spend weekends rewatching beloved titles. There is a well-known neighbor, friend, or colleague who spends Sundays immersed in Deep Purple’s “Made in Japan” (1972) to the fullest, believing that truly iconic moments endure.
In Oliver Sacks’s exploration of music and the brain, as cited by a cultural outlet that reproduces the idea, early musical experiences can become etched in the brain’s circuitry for life. A study referenced in a 2017 Deezer report on musical paralysis adds a striking point: more than 80 percent of music listeners continually replay songs from childhood, adolescence, or youth that helped shape adulthood. These patterns show how early sounds can linger, shaping taste and even loyalty to certain artists or genres.
The same logic applies to cinema. A recent Oscar winner and multi‑genre hit ignites debates that mirror the clashes between fans of Led Zeppelin and fans of contemporary streaming creators. Broad generalizations admit exceptions: two people might still be friends even if they disagree on a single work. The real fault line often lies in the generation gap. Early online histories of this topic tended to flood discussions with comparisons to classics like The Father or Schindler’s List, followed by rapid cycles of personal critique typical of forums. Conversations drift in seconds—from reverence to dismissal.
In the weeks leading up to major awards, viewers often find themselves finishing the latest big release only to pause, switch platforms, or take a break, wondering if the momentum will resume. The experience can be temporary or more selective, affecting some kinds of media more than others. Some people simply stay engaged with new music and cinema as they arrive on platforms like Radio 3, while others focus on old favorites. Perhaps it’s a matter of time, organization, and a choice to let certain stories pass by rather than chase every novelty. These moments may feel like a blink in history, yet they knit a larger pattern into everyday life.
In personal terms, relationships and time management influence what people choose to consume. A reader might revisit a favorite author or a cherished movie, while someone else doubles down on fresh voices and new formats. The risk of stagnation is real, yet so is the possibility of balance: enjoying everything from enduring classics to contemporary experiments, and understanding that each era can offer something meaningful. The idea remains: what resonates now may change later, and what endures can illuminate future choices. The horizon of taste is wide, and every viewing or listening moment carries its own significance within a broader cultural memory.