If you think Olivia Rodrigo is just the voice of millennials, zillennials, xennials and whatever comes after Gen Z, think again, you ageist jerk. OK, you’re probably not ageist, you just don’t know my grandma.
Ever since Rodrigo’s “Drivers License” dropped and changed this God-forsaken world as we know it, my Florida-based grandmother has been eagerly awaiting more music from the young artist formerly known to her as “Olivia Rodriguez.” (She’s not racist; she’s just confused.)
She loved the breathtaking bridge and coveted the burrows-into-your-brain chorus. When Rodrigo’s debut album
Sour dropped last Friday, Grandma joined the chorus of critics and fans praising the finely crafted record. To be clear, she didn’t post on Facebook (“I don’t like that Mark fellow,” she says) or Twitter (“Is that the one with robots?”) or a blog (“I’m not that old.”) Rather, she went straight off the dome, rattling off her faves while comparing Rodrigo to toda