rock

Queuing for Pretentiousness

Oasis and the fact that tickets for their upcoming tour have gone on sale was on the news this morning. Inspired to blog about it, I just checked my archive, and my opinion of the band hasn’t changed since I wrote this entry: Liam and Noel Gallagher are still two talentless, arrogant wankers. What gets to me (in a mildly annoying way) is the obviously fake adoration they’re currently receiving. The beeb’s breakfast show I was just watching showed fans queuing outside ticket offices, as if it was somehow equivalent to a Beatles or Queen reunion. The thing is, many of the people there were obviously too young to have been alive when Oasis were actually together; either that or just wanted to tap into the band’s Northern chique, faux-anti-establishment brand. In other words, this didn’t have anything to do with wanting to listen to music, but was entirely pretentious.

Then again, I suppose the same accusation could be levelled at me when I was so enthusiastic to get tickets for Monty Python Live in 2014. Given that I wasn’t alive when Python first aired in the Seventies, was I just going with the Python-are-great vibe? Was I being pretentious, claiming to tap into a culture which I thought was trendy and fashionable? I don’t think so: although I was born post-Python, I had grown up in a household full of Monty Python References. I remember my dad singing The Lumberjack Song when I was little, not understanding why he would work all night and sleep all day. I remember being told about spam, and the song Jesus sang when he was on the cross. Most fondly of all, I remember watching Michael Palin’s travel programs on Sunday evenings. Thus when they reunited eleven years ago, my enthusiasm was entirely heartfelt and genuine. Those guys were and are legends and cultural icons; watching them live will always be one of the highlights of my life. My only regret looking back is that I didn’t get tickets for my parents to see the show too, as they were even bigger Python fans than I was.

Now, however, Oasis are trying to tap into the same kind of nostalgic vibe Python exhibited, but the difference now is that it is entirely superficial. These ‘fans’ don’t actually like Oasis, as much as they want to be seen to like Oasis. They seem to be under the gross misapprehension that being an Oasis fan makes you an anti-mainstream rebel, when the irony is that you can barely get more mainstream than these two generic, nauseating, unoriginal twits. Anyone genuinely into rock music would be queuing for tickets for the plethora of other actual rock concerts happening across the country this summer. But instead they put on their stupid hats and sunglasses, and try to imitate the mannerisms of two Mancunian wankers who never had a shred of musical talent in the first place.

Pulp Fans And Outsidership

I was just watching BBC Breakfast News as usual, and came across something which really, really got on my nerves. They were running an item on Pulp, Jarvis Cocker and Britpop, about how it was so influential and the legacy it left, especially on places like Sheffield. Towards the end of the piece, they quite predictably interviewed a few fans: what I found so annoying was how such fans saw themselves as outsiders. They were saying how, to be into a band like Pulp, you had to be a bit weird, strange or unusual, gleefully emphasising how different and abnormal they thought they were. The thing is, the people saying this were white, male, able-bodied and (I assume) straight. Sorry, but I couldn’t help getting rather wound up by that. They obviously belong to the most mainstream, advantaged cohort of people there is; one which faces the least discrimination of all. Liking a certain band or genre of music does not make you an outsider, yet they seemed to regard theirselves as oddities swimming against the mainstream current.

As someone who faces various kinds of discrimination every day, down to being unable to get where I want to go due to places being inaccessible for wheelchair users, to hear such a person trumpet how ‘different’ he felt he was, really felt like a piss-take. He would know nothing of the kind of persecution a member of any real minority faces. But then, these days it seems to be culturally fashionable to be a member of a minority: nobody wants to be seen as a member of the advantaged, privileged few, so rather like Monty Python’s Four Yorkshiremen will jump at anything that makes them seem hard done by, persecuted or different. The thing is, liking the music of a certain band, and being educated in a special school alongside seven or eight quite disabled young people, are hardly the same thing.

Rocking Out in Trafalgar Square

Yesterday was yet another of those days which reminded me how awesome living in London is. To be honest I didn’t have much of a plan: I have a new anti-Trump hat which I thought I’d go try to show off in Parliament Square, but I fancied a bit of a trundle first. I caught the Elisabeth Line to Tottenham Court Road, and had a look round Soho. There wasn’t much going on there, so I headed towards Westminster.

On my way through Trafalgar Square, however, I got rather distracted. The square was swelling with people; people were selling food from vans. I encountered a street preacher who, naturally, I instantly started to tell to shut up. I then got into a debate with him about the nature of reality, which lasted about half an hour. But it was only when that ended that the fun really began.

Heading towards the entrance to Whitehall I started to hear music: cool, rock music of the kind I usually like. Some guys were playing in that end of the square, and people were starting to gather to listen. There were three or four of them: fairly young, and they looked rather funky. The young lady on the drums struck me as especially impressive. The crowd around them was growing, and starting to get into the swing of things.

Needless to say I joined them. I was rather hesitant at first, not wanting to cause any trouble, but pretty soon I was rocking about, flying around in my powerchair like a mad-thing! The band seemed to welcome it, and the funky-looking lead singer encouraged me. They were playing all kinds of cool things, including American Idiot by Greenday. That, of course, lead me to ask if they knew Basketcase, and when they started playing it, the buildings around the square echoing to the lyrics “Do you have the time, to listen to me whine…” I went into full rock mode. The afternoon had suddenly become awesome.

Between songs, the lead singer spoke to the crowd, introducing the band as The Vone. They were busking of course, and asking for donations. I instantly took a liking to this group of young people, and was especially taken by how the lead singer took the time to see what I was typing into my Ipad. Their gig lasted about an hour or so, after which I started talking to them. The lead singer, Marcello, thanked me for my dancing, and I apologised for stealing the show somewhat. As the band packed up their things, I asked if they fancied a beer, and Marcello told me that they were about to go to a nearby pub, inviting me along.

The rest of the evening was spent getting to know my new friends. Marcello turned out to be a fascinating guy: I had assumed he was American given his accent, but he was from brazil. He works as a musician for Cbeebees. He also told me that he lives in Woolwich, so there is a chance we could meet up again. London has this incredible ability to introduce you to fascinating people, so that every morning you never know who you’re going to meet or what you’ll encounter. Yesterday was another of those amazing days which suddenly morphed into something incredible. I have new friends and new memories – what more could I ask for?