I moved to New Jersey when I was six, in the summer between kindergarten and first grade. There were not a lot of kids in my neighborhood, and I struggled to make friends, more or less due to the sheer lack of options available (that's my story, anyway).
In first grade, I made a few friends, including a particular wiener named David. Our parents orchestrated a playdate, and I was up for anything. David was kind of an asshole, but I was desperate. So I tolerated watching him play Treasure MathStorm (he said his mom wouldn't let me play; a likely story, David).
Eventually, we journeyed to his bedroom, and I still can recall my jaw dropping at the obscene number of toys he possessed. Part of me was like, fuck you, David; the other part dug in. Here, David and I finally connected.
We constructed convoluted narratives involving Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, GI Joes, Power Rangers, whatever bullshit he had lying around. Tales of espionage, love, space operas. Our kiddo minds got pretty creative.
Just as we were nearing another riveting conclusion where Rock Steady was marrying Alpha 5, David's older sister shattered our fun. We were mid-ceremony with a Crash Test Dummy serving as the Justice of the Peace, when she came into the room, made eye contact with us, and said the meanest thing she could have possibly said:
"What are you doing? Ugh, you guys are such nerds. Nerds!"
Crushed, we stopped, returned downstairs, and settled into our more acceptable behavior (the not nerdy at all computer math game).
Harry and the Potters survive under similar parameters. In the safe space of a childhood bedroom, sure, whatever, you can make sorcerer-inspired music. But under the scrutiny of the world, you gotta call it like it is: this is nerd music for nerds.
And not like "Oh, people who wear glasses are cool now." No, this is shameful behavior. Don't listen to this album. Run away. Go play a computer game.
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