As with any commercial stepchild, folk’s former adherents don’t even remember themselves as such. They reminisce along with the Time-Life nostalgia series about Woodstock or miniskirts or whatever is officially designated as important and memory-worthy. When one’s personal history is systematically omitted from public records, one loses the sense of having lived at all.
One longs to share a collective experience with one’s peers. An inevitable absorption of the official narrative takes root. The eyewitness to history slowly becomes an eyewitness to the version replayed on television and film: the official history. Finally, when they are asked about seeing Mimi Farina they can only recall The Beatles on Ed Sullivan or their first hit of acid: facile clichés and marketing campaigns which are trumpeted as epochal events. They have a choice: accept the myth and be considered a by-product of a fantastical, epic era or be an incomprehensible old bore.
— Ian Svenonius, The Psychic Soviet