I don’t think that I feel guilty about any of the media that I enjoy. I’m not ashamed to admit that I still laugh at ‘Everybody to the Limit,’ for instance. I am aware, however, that I own some albums that I would be expected to feel guilty about. Paramore’s self-titled release definitely fits that bill.
The obvious concern: Paramore is an album aimed pretty squarely at adolescent girls. I can say with confidence that I’m at least a stone’s throw outside of that demographic. And it is, admittedly, a little bit weird to be bobbing my head in the car to a song with lyrics like:
I’m done with all of my fake friends…so I cried just a little then I’ll dry my eyes ’cause I’m not a little girl no more. Some of us have to grow up sometimes.
No matter when I hear that song (‘Grow Up’), I know that – somewhere – there is a teenaged girl shouting along to it at the same time. No matter when.
And yet I still like it. Just like I like the ukulele interludes that kinda-sorta divide the album up into four stylistically grouped EPs, and just like I like the semi-big single ‘Still Into You’ for how catchy and goofily romantic it is (it did get played at my wedding, after all). And then there’s the agonizingly beautiful and melodramatic ‘Hate to See Your Heart Break’ and ‘(One of Those) Crazy Girls’ which never fails to make me laugh at least a little bit.
I know that I’m not the target audience for this record. But I’ve always enjoyed Paramore. And, honestly, I feel no guilt over enjoying Paramore.