F-F-F-Fire!
Why does the American public allow pundits and politicians to talk to them as if they are the senile relative in the room? These a-holes love to banter amongst themselves about what “The American People” think about some piece of drivel or another until we learn it verbatim.
The American People, the story goes, think issues are boring and politics are dirty.To be president a person must be able to take a punch–even (especially) a sucker punch, or a kick in the groin. I mean, what if Bin Laden caught Obama farting in church? What if Iran saw Hillary scratch her ass during the national anthem?
The American people just love this stuff, see? We love to gawk at the accident by the side of the road. In fact, we’d love it if, barring a real accident, one could be staged for our entertainment.
The Media, having framed the terms of battle, forces Democrats to steel themselves for months of expensive, banal, and–considering the numbers–pointless trench warfare between Clinton and Obama. Independents? Hell I don’t know…how could someone honestly not have chosen sides by now?
Republicans wait with bated breath: “Please, please, pleeeez, let it be Hillary!”
Their Hillary ammo sits un-used, and it is some foul stuff (I’ve heard it)–it will make the Rev. Wright business look like a stubbed toe. Seriously.
To most of the rest of the industrialized world this bickering is bizarre to say the very least. Why are we,The American People, putting ourselves through this? Why must we piss on people that we presumably expect our soldiers to salute someday? It’s as if The American People, standing in a burning house that could spread fire to the entire neighborhood, would rather argue about who left the toilet seat up (and what kind of person would do such an awful thing) than put the fire out. Is this really us?
What the Hell Is Punk, Anyway?
The three unavoidables for musicians: death, taxes, and the van–the less than sumptuous facilities from which I am reporting to you now as the Damned hurtle at breakneck speed from Thessalonica to Athens on our latest Euro jaunt.
At least we had a reasonable hotel last night–but is it “punk rock” to be afforded the luxury of a bathrobe, room service and a vanity kit and all that? It takes a lot to get my chum Charlie Harper, singer of the UK Subs, to complain (”sleep on the DJ’s floor Charlie?”…”Yeah yeah yeah, but where’s the beer?”). The Subs will play any gig, anywhere, anytime–the bloke’s a legend.
Now I’m not saying that dossing on the floor’s beneath me–I just think at this late state in my dubious career I deserve a bit of comfort after a hard day’s flitting about in my quest to spread a little joy and happiness (plus a dollop of subversion) around the planet. Oh, and I’m not sure my dodgy old back would stand sleeping on the DJ’s floor these days, either.
A few years ago the Damned participated in the Warped Tour, a traveling punk circus with the bands journeying from town to town through the night in their various tour buses. We did notice then that some of the buses were a lot posher than others. And how about the bands that have private planes with an anarchy logo on the tail–as the owner of our last label had (although that didn’t stop us borrowing it on occasion…cough, ahem!).
I remember when we flew in for what was the first US show by a UK punk band. At CBGB’s it was, in 1976 and we were met by this limo to take us into Manhattan…which we promptly sent off in disgust taking the shuttle bus instead. Who did they think we were–rock stars? But it wasn’t long before we started selling reasonable amounts of records and the inverted snobbery went down the jolly old toilet pan!
So, what exactly is punk rock? Is it just about kick ass songs, spiky hair and tattoos, or is there more to it? The Damned’s motto was “THE FIRST RULE IS–THERE’S NO RULES”–but I’m not sure you can front a punk group wearing bright orange loon pants and get away with it.
Maybe punk’s job is to tell it like it is: naming names, challenging the lunatic policies of government and pointing out the failures of a society that works just fine and dandy if you’re stinking rich but is a nightmare for the poor–in a way that journalists used to do before the likes of Rupert Murdoch changed all that nonsense! And whatever you think of Green Day–”American Idiot” did hit the nail firmly on the head lyrically (even if the tune does reminded us of Kim Wilde’s “Kids In America” somewhat).
But is it not the DIY attitude that is the crowning glory of punk? Buy a guitar and do it yourself. You only need to learn a few chords and you’re away. And for me that philosophy should go for sport, TV, religion, art, whatever…don’t sit on the couch watching some arrogant overpaid asshole do it for you–use your own brain and see what you can create. That’s punk if you like.
But I’d better wrap up now as our van is finally approaching Athens after 6 hours of hell–sweltering heat with no AC to speak of–and regardless of my preceding waffle about punk all I can say is if they don’t have any decent beer at the venue tonight the gigs off!
Pip pip,
Captain S.
The worst joke I’ve heard this week…
A 6 year old and a 4 year old are talking. The 6 year old says, “I think it’s time we started swearing”. The 4 year old agrees.
They go down to breakfast and Mum asks what they want. The 6 year old says, “Oh shit Mum, I think I’ll have some Cocoa Pops”. WHALLOP… he flies out of the chair and across the room and runs out crying.
Mum looks sternly at the 4 year old and asks what he wants.
“I don’t know,” he cries–”but it won’t be fucking Cocoa Pops!”