Our House


Not too many rock songs hail the joys of domesticity. Coming home to a warm fireplace and a vase of roses is basically the opposite of what rock’n’roll dreams are made of. Fair enough; many people are attracted to the rock’n’roll lifestyle because the picket fence thing doesn’t do it for them. On the other hand,though, even the staunchest hedonists eventually find themselves, with a sigh of relief, back at the hearthside with their loved ones. That’s where Graham Nash and cronies come in, harmonizing about the magic of the mundane, elevating everyday moments, celebrating the simplicity of life, etc. Here, haters would stop and argue that this isn’t truly a rock song; they may even say that Crosby, Stills and Nash aren’t real rockers but a bunch of hippie softies who like to play sitting down. (No one could think to question Neil Young’s rocker cred.) Ok, these guys aren’t exactly up there with the Sex Pistols on the hard core scale, but enough with petty distinctions what makes ‘real’ or ‘true’ rock music. If it comes down to being drunk and dysfunctional, then David Crosby could eat the Pistols for breakfast. The point is to tell a story that appeals to people, right? Debauchery appeals to people, for obvious reasons of vicarious living, but peace and happiness do too. It appeals to people to hear a story they recognize their own life in, and most people will recognize moments like this one.

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