The Music Critic

After school this afternoon I buckled John into his seat in my car. I got in and turned on the radio. The early nineties groaner Ice, Ice Baby came on.

"That's not a good song," John said from the back seat without hesitation.

"You're right, son," I said and changed the station. Bobby Brown, My Prerogative.

"That's a good song," John said.

"Yep," I agreed, "that's Bobby Brown, John. Classic New Jack Swing."

"I want to go see Bobby Brown."

"Well, son, I'll take you if he comes to town. I don't think he tours much, though. He's pretty busy."