In a galaxy far far away….A bunch of skinny bovva boys had a pint with a cynical marketing geek who taught them that by forgetting a couple of chords and pissing on the audience shouting out such pithy comments as ‘no future’ and ‘oi oi’ that they could attain the dizzying heights of fame and it’s associated benefits such as shagging gullible slags for a period of anything up to and including six weeks. They might even jag a hit record along the way. GEAR!
Somehow this random collision of incoherent sweaty mass to the soundtrack of some of the crunchiest grooves ever not recorded found an identity of it’s own even though the ‘us against the rest’ attitude harked back to earlier gods such as Elvis, the Stones and Zeppelin. The best known expression of this musical form came to be known in recorded history as the album ‘Never mind the bollocks, here’s the Sex Pistols’ and then every bastard thought ‘Hey, I’d like a bit of that lark’ and Punk exploded in face of the music world, waking the fat slut up after spending over three years being bored 5hitless by the ball squashing harmonies of the Gibb brothers (who started a joke the world still doesn’t get) and other associated warblers and black chicks who lost their soul under ye disco ball.
This pointless utopia for the forgotten was oh too brief my friends…before too long chaps with overalls, chaps with Yorkshire caps and skinny black ties and chaps who did not look like chaps at all came along washed away all of that **** YOU with a swill of synthesisers and a mask of mascara…some even dared to leach away the crunge with samples of John Bonham as the ultimate insult to both Punks and Dinosaur rock lovers alike.
By the time The Guns of Brixton eventually rocked the Kasbah, punk was buried for the first time, seemingly never to rise again…although shite for some reason has never been laid to rest. The dark ages of the Thompson twins and hair metal lingered on till the early 90’s when something strange happened…Punk was born again in the USA. Americans, being Americans decided that from the underneath the turgid skies of Seattle that a new musical form, known as Grunge had been created from the spontaneous creative energies of white America (LOL). Now that the Yanks finally had a clue, the world could stop buying Mariah Carey and not having to hire a bodyguard just because Celine Dion gave everyone that sinking feeling. Ugly people were suddenly making music again and our radios (that can’t see their pretty faces anyhows) were squelching out the benefits through even better sound systems.
But Kurt pulled a clanger, a trigger, a hyperdermic and shot off to a place where he wouldn’t be expected to perform anymore. Apparently Kurt had a gig in the afterlife but his fans aren’t dead yet and everyone was grooving to Hendrix and Richie Valens. If Kurt is in heaven, he is in his green cardigan at one of those shows..if he’s in hell, he is wearing NBA franchise clothing watching the current UK top 40 (shudder!!).
With the demise of the second coming all is starting to appear bleak again. However, those that love the fact that no one really loves you and that any bastard can get an axe and grind out a few convoluted notes may be happy to hear that our land Australia, is way behind the times. That means, it may be OUR turn to discover punk. God knows what we will call it, but it matters not. Lovers of punk fear not…Punk may be dead now but soon it will re-emerge out of the tepid, green slimey turgid trough of pretty musicians who pump out cookie cutter albums so they can sell their shallow images.
Then when OUR punk god has it’s holiday in the sun, it will bob up again in New Zealand, in Thailand, in Japan…fear not…punk believes in nothing but reincarnation. So why post this crap? Because in the true punk universe ANYTHING goes and I felt like giving you all the benefit of my many years on this planet dodging the reaper. If you don’t agree…stiff 5hit. The internet is no place for a punk discussion because could you imagine anyone moderating Sid Vicious?? An internet forum devoted to punk could only ever be dreamt up by someone who was not even a tadpole swimming in their old man’s bags when the Pistols pissed off the Queen of England.
It’s only Punk and Roll…..but I like it.
Regards,
REB
Just stirring!! Besides I was talking about Grunge not punk.
