Do They Still Feel It? A Reflection on Music, Generations, and Inspiration

Sometimes I wonder if this generation finds as much hope and inspiration in music as I did growing up. I struggle these days to find even one new song that truly grabs me—one that makes me stop what I’m doing, close my eyes, and feel something. Most of what floats across local radio is either the same old tunes I grew up with—songs now labeled as “classics”—or newer tracks that barely move the needle. And I know how that sounds. Like I’ve officially become the old fogy shaking his head at “the good ole days,” insisting today’s generation knows nothing about real music. But that’s not what this is. Not really.

For me, music wasn’t just background noise. It was a spark. A lifeline. A teacher. A companion. A source of hope in moments where hope felt thin. I grew up in a time when music wasn’t just consumed—it was lived. You felt it in the car, cruising down Detroit streets with the windows down. You felt it in the house on Saturday mornings when your parents were cleaning. You felt it in the laughter of your brothers, the nod of your father, the smile of your mother. Music wasn’t entertainment; it was identity. Unity. Sanctuary.

Maybe that’s why today’s songs hit me differently—or don’t hit at all. It’s not that the new generation lacks talent. It’s not that they’re incapable of creating something meaningful. It’s that music has shifted from something communal to something disposable. We swipe through songs like social media posts. We skip halfway through. We don’t sit with music anymore. We don’t court it, chase it, absorb it, or allow it to challenge us. And because of that, the relationship feels shallow.

But here’s the thing: I don’t blame the kids. I don’t blame the artists either. The world moves fast now. Too fast. Everything is designed to be consumed instantly and forgotten quickly. And yet—I still believe deep down that the right song can change someone’s life today just as powerfully as a Marvin Gaye track changed mine years ago. Hope doesn’t disappear. It evolves. It hides. It waits for the right ears.

I say all this not to complain, but to remind myself—and maybe remind someone else—that inspiration is still out there. That spark still exists. Maybe I just need to slow down long enough to recognize it. Maybe I need to stop comparing eras and start listening with fresh ears. And maybe the next great song won’t sound like the music of my youth…but it might still move my spirit the same way.

At the end of the day, music is timeless because emotion is timeless. Struggle is timeless. Joy is timeless. The heart doesn’t keep track of release dates.

And even if the radio today doesn’t speak to me the way it used to, the classics that raised me still echo through everything I do—especially my art. They inspired the way I draw, the stories I write, the characters I imagine, and the passion that keeps me creating day after day. Those songs were the soundtrack of my youth, and in many ways, the foundation of my creativity.

So maybe this generation’s “classics” are being made right now—quietly, subtly, somewhere I haven’t tuned into yet. Their Marvin. Their Prince. Their Stevie. Their Whitney. Their Janet. Their Earth, Wind & Fire. Their song that makes the world stop spinning just long enough to breathe.

And who knows? Maybe the next time I flip through the radio or scroll through playlists, that one perfect track will find me again.

Because no matter the decade, music still has the power to save somebody.

It saved me.

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