I always considered David Bowie’s “Young Americans” the dividing line between “old” and “new” pop music:
“But the freak, and his type, all for nothing
Misses a step and cuts his hand, but
Showing nothing, he swoops like a song
She cries, “Where have all Papa’s heroes gone?””
It took 46 years, but his “Young Americans” are here.
That’s a very insightful observation.
Many of Bowie’s songs have excellent lyrics, some rather meaningful for anyone.