No Sugarcoating & No Bullshit: June
Written by Jo Hayes
Sunday, 30 June 2013 03:40
Hello Uber Rockers. After a brief hiatus, it’s once again time for a dose of nonsense, maybe a double dose after missing a month.
I’ve been scratching my head as to what to write about this month, as this blog needs to be music related (being on a Rock music website, it kinda figures), and I don’t want to end up repeating myself. Saying that, in reference to February’s blog, I decided not to go to Glastonbury, as it would end up costing me in excess of £500 – including my ticket, parking ticket, petrol, camping gear, booze and food. Spending this amount at a time where I can’t really afford it, would mean I wouldn’t enjoy myself that much. I cancelled my ticket on the last possible date, which meant I could get a full refund (minus their £10 admin fee of course). Which got me thinking about what Rock ‘n’ Roll really is.
There’s no doubt that festivals have gained popularity in recent years, and of course, up goes the price of a ticket, and the overall experience. Surely festivals used to be Counter Culture – a dirt cheap ticket, dodgy loos, no showers, just hot, sweaty rock ‘n’ roll, and a load of drunken fans. Now I’d call them Anti-Counter-Culture. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve enjoyed myself immensely at festivals, generally letting go and having a laugh, but the prices going up seems to have attracted more arseholes. People who think they’re massively cool for “roughing it” for a few days, drink too much, then try and climb into your tent whilst you’re sleeping. The latter happened to me once, I screamed at the bloke, who said: “Don’t worry, I won’t do anything, I just want to sleep.” I told him to fuck off, he disappeared, and in the morning, I found him sleeping outside my tent, so I “accidentally” (on purpose) kicked him on my way to the arena the next day.
Getting to my point, where is the Rock ‘n’ Roll spirit in turning up expecting to be able to preen yourself every day, wearing inches of make-up, and straightening your hair? None, these are the Poseurs.
Of course Poseurs are everywhere, and with “Metal”, “Goth” or “Punk” now seemingly a fashion term, blue hair, a Mohawk or a nose piercing just doesn’t have the same statement any more.
I still think expressing yourself through your appearance is great, and I know many people who dress this way – it looks cool. What doesn’t make it cool is people doing it for the fashion; when you can buy pre-ripped jeans on the High Street, and Stooges t-shirts in H&M, does it mean the original Rock ‘n’ Roll or Punk Rock message is dead? I just find it funny how anti-fashion now IS fashion, which in itself could always be considered Punk Rock, but not by the people wearing the clothes, it would have to be the original purveyors of the movement.
How the Poseurs of the day would mock them for what they wear, for thirty years later to have the same people using the clothes they used to hate, for their fashion. These people really don’t realise that they’re a walking contradiction.
You now can’t walk down the street without seeing a tattoo on someone – mainly “tramp stamps” (dodgy looking tribal pieces) or stars and butterflies. I’m guilty of having six tattoos, which you could argue makes me a walking contradiction, and I obviously got the influence from somewhere, but I think dresssing or decorating yourself the way you want to, rather than for the latest fashion, sets us apart from the so-called fashionistas.
Back to the Punk Rock or Rock ‘n’ Roll Poseurs, and again referencing to my blog from April, what is it with people in bands who really look the Glam Rock ‘n’ Roll part, but act like a living, breathing cliché? They think they need to smoke Marlboro Reds, down JD like water, and act like a complete dickhead – just because they think they should.
I know none of this really matters in the grand scheme of things, but hey, a pointless Rock ‘n’ Roll realted rant should hopefully make some good light-hearted reading!
Now, back to dying my hair pink, getting a butterfly tattoo, and piercing my neck…
Until next time,
Jo
