Brooklyn Rock Dads

I actually know many, many of them:

All across gentrified Brooklyn rages what I like to call the Battle of the Dad Bands. At day-care drop-off and the playground, at birthday parties and piano recitals, guys with graying hair and sad paunches strut around in T-shirts emblazoned with the hip indie bands of yesteryear. There goes Mr. Yo La Tengo, I think to myself. Oh, check out Mr. Bright Eyes over here. The competition never breaks out into true warfare; the participants merely eye each other warily and every so often tilt a jaw upward and mutter, “Nice shirt, man.” It’s like the male version of Amy Poehler’s character in Mean Girls — “I’m not a regular mom,” she says. “I’m a cool mom” — the point being to signal that, though they are no longer young in years, they have at least retained some of their youthful spirit. While actual young people these days have adopted the giants of the 1990s, wearing vintage Nirvana and Red Hot Chili Peppers gear, “cool” dads prefer more esoteric fare: Mr. Faith No More. A rare sighting of Mr. Jawbreaker.

I haven't even gotten to the main article yet, but that's an almost perfect summation of a lot of the sentiment going around with music snobs in my day.