Still Like That Old Time Rock n’ Roll

WE WERE ALL HAVING A PERFECTLY pleasant evening at our friend’s cottage on Kennisis Lake, Ont., when Jeff decided to bust out his old CD collection. Twelve of us were there on a night late in the summer, two generations—us in our twenties and our parents in their fifties—who had been friends for almost two decades. Jeff started cycling through the albums, playing one or two tracks from each disc before the next song request rolled in: the Eagles, the Clash, Tears for Fears, the Police.

Then, as is known to happen when strong opinions and strong drink commingle, things got a little tense. Jeff, who has long held the title for the most laid-back grown-up I know, was trying to accommodate the enthusiastic requests from Norm, a big Led Zeppelin fan, as well as those from my mother (Norm’s partner), who earnestly refers to most bands of Norm’s choosing as “drug music.” Catherine, Jeff’s wife, someone who carries the quiet authority of a high school principal, was the diplomat, which worked pretty well until you threw into the mix my cocksure younger brother, who had some thoughts of his own about what we should be listening to.

Some were not happy about the length of time it was taking for that song they requested four songs ago to make it to the front of the queue. Some were upset that after the delay, their song was switched prematurely. Some simply could not believe that anyone would request that song right now—are you kidding me?

But then something wonderful happened. Even with all the opinions in the room, Jeff managed to find a song that was, in a word, perfect: “Sister