The Return of Heart: The 70’s Vibes Are Back (Sort Of)
Turns Out the Old Man Was Right. When Moondog Shocked Me
The other night I was talking to my dad, Marvin “Moondog” Moonbeam. Normally, these conversations go something like:
Me: “Hey Dad, heard this new Jelly Roll song?”
Dad: “Son, back in my day, we had real music—none of that TikTok nonsense you kids listen to.”
But this time? Total curveball. He actually knew who Jelly Roll was. Not only that, he started quoting Save Me. My jaw hit the floor. I thought maybe he’d confused Jelly Roll with an actual jelly roll, but nope—he meant the guy.
Then Gus Malone strolls in, overhears us, and casually drops that not only does he know Jelly Roll too, but he listens to Oliver Anthony. At this point, I had to double-check the room for hidden cameras.
Today’s Music with Yesterday’s Soul
Here’s the deal: music right now has this weird, beautiful, surprising throwback to the 70s vibe. Not the polyester suits, thank God, but the soul. The meaning. The storytelling.
Jelly Roll: Bleeding on a Microphone
The man doesn’t just sing—he bleeds on a microphone. Songs like Save Me and I Am Not Okay don’t sugarcoat a damn thing. They’re raw, messy, and human. His voice sounds like it was marinated in gravel and regret, and somehow that makes it perfect. Even Eminem sampled him, which is basically like being knighted but with more yelling.
“Somebody save me, me from myself, I’ve spent so long livin’ in hell.”
Chris Stapleton: Whiskey, Dogs, and Soul
Stapleton’s voice could rip your heart out, stitch it back up, and then pour you a glass of Tennessee whiskey while singing about a dog named Maggie. One minute he’s tearing your soul open with Fire Away, the next he’s making you ugly-cry over Maggie’s Song. Then he casually reinvents Tennessee Whiskey like it had been sitting there, waiting for him all along.
Oliver Anthony: Tender and Torn
Anthony basically said what a whole lot of people were already yelling at their TVs with Rich Men North of Richmond. Then he turns around and gives us Always Love You Like a Good Old Dog—a surprisingly tender love song that hits you in the chest.
Then comes Scornful Woman, where he lays out the story of his marriage falling apart. It’s rough, it’s real, and it makes you feel like you’re sitting in the kitchen with him while the whole thing unravels.
Echoes of the 70’s
See the pattern? These guys are telling stories. Honest-to-God stories. That’s what music in the 70s was all about. Don McLean wrote a saga in American Pie. Gordon Lightfoot turned a shipwreck into a haunting ballad. Harry Chapin wrecked every father-son relationship with Cats in the Cradle.
And don’t forget the artistry. Seals and Crofts held back Summer Breeze for two years until Dash Crofts sat down at a toy piano and said, “Yep, that’s the sound we need.” That’s not just art. That’s insanity. But hey, it worked.
The 70s were also experimental. Bob Dylan whipped out a siren whistle. Hendrix slapped wax paper over a comb for a kazoo effect in Crosstown Traffic. Basically, if it made a noise and didn’t scare the neighbors too much, it was fair game.
The Torch Is Lit Again
Music is a living, breathing thing, and sometimes the new cats take the old songs and spin them into something downright cosmic. Like when Disturbed dropped their cover of The Sound of Silence — whoa. They took a folk classic everyone thought they had pegged and turned it into this deep, heavy, emotional trip that hits you right in the soul. That’s the magic of cover tunes, man — they connect generations, proving that a good song never dies, it just waits for someone bold enough to give it a new vibe and let it shine all over again.
So yeah, today’s music doesn’t sound like the 70s, but it feels like it. It’s got heart again. It’s got grit. It tells you a story, rips you apart, and maybe—just maybe—puts you back together.
And here’s the kicker: it’s not just the kids noticing. When Moondog and Gus are vibin’ with Jelly Roll and Oliver Anthony, you know something real is happening. That’s not “boomer nostalgia.” That’s the torch getting passed in the only way that matters: through songs that actually mean something.
So maybe the old man was right after all. Don’t tell him I said that, though—I’ll never hear the end of it.
