Cool Britannia
The ‘06 Guide to Bandwagon Jumping, Part 1
Yes, I’ve been absent. As are the rigours of youth, I’m afraid. The stocky, balding men with their tweed suits and embedded sense of unfounded superiority -- in the business, they’re commonly referred to as “teachers” -- keep trying to enthuse upon me that I’ve got important “exams” and that if I don’t “revise” I’ll be a “failure” and smell like “tramp piss” for the rest of my life. They’re intent on distracting me from my important work here. Apparently I can’t rely on my good looks and cunning ways to get along in life. Who’d have thought it, seriously?
I’d like to pretend the lack of thrilling March and April instalments was due to my rock and roll lifestyle. I’d like to wander up to you and sniff, “Yeah, sorry I haven’t been around an’ all. I’ve been ‘busy.’ Have you met Sarah? She’s a supermodel. We’re gonna get married. In Vegas.” But I’d be lying, and nobody would believe me anyway. They never do. I’ve been working like a good pupil, one who’s gonna get great grades and be a professional Clever Bastard. Supposedly.
Moving on at great pace, I’m here to save your reputation. Yes you. This is my attempt -- as a figurehead of the sneering younger generation who are just too god damn energetic -- to save the people who’ve just heard “You’re Beautiful” for the first time and didn’t think it was too bad at all; the people who’ve been relying on their Clap Your Hands Say Yeah LP for all their indie cred so far; the people who, may the Lord save your souls, actually haven’t heard Gnarls Barkley’s “Crazy” yet, or don’t get what all the fuss is about. You people need help. And so I present to you: The ‘06 Guide To Bandwagon Jumping, Part 1. I hope you’re sitting comfortably.
Nowadays, social trends tend to work in a complex system of lines. Sort of like train lines. They may cross or run parallel, they may be very far away from one another, or they may occasionally collide and explode in a huge ball of fire and social exclusion. Some may lead to wealth, happiness and a big stack of delicious bacon sandwiches for you to devour, whilst others may lead to your own gruesome death, or even Canada. Society is brutal and, if you’re not careful with which train lines or bandwagons you choose, it will brutalise you like some kind of bitch. If you don’t keep up, your dignity will be raped and pillaged by a gang of marauding indiemo youngsters. They’ll spit and yell mean things, possibly even about your Mother’s sexual appetite. Do you really want that, do you want to take that kind of risk? Fuck no. The first step is avoiding this. Avoid the following bandwagons, on my excellent advice:
-Kaiser Chiefs seem like a nice prospect. They’ve come across from Britain, they’re all happy and chirpy. Look, that nice lead singer chap is doing a little dance. He’s wearing a blazer, how charming.
No. You will regret getting involved, you will get burnt. You’ll wake up one morning and they’ll be playing “Oh My God” on your alarm clock radio again. You used to quite like that song and you even bought the album, Employment. But now you have the uncontrollable urge to smash, bash, do Hulk-style things. “Why?” you might ask yourself. “Why do their verses always build up to such an anti-climax? Why does this song get played so much? Why did I buy this album?” All of a sudden, your dollars have been wasted and the British music industry is snickering. I made much the same mistake. Learn from my mistakes. Stay away.
-Here comes James Blunt. He’s trying to “break” America with his Elliott Smith-extra double lite guitar plucked woe (it breaks my heart to mention those two names in a comparative sense). He used to be in the British army, so he probably knows the Queen -- right? Whilst his mouth is worryingly large and could probably consume an entire baby in one go, he surely means no harm.
Wrong. Sure, James Blunt means no harm, but his outrageous success in Britain greatly overshadows the hard work of talented solo musicians. Don’t let this spread to the United States -- then it will be China, and then the world. Stay away, for the good of humanity.
-There is a worrying trend of seeing high street chain shops selling bags and t-shirts with, for example, Clash and Ramones album covers emblazoned across. But, as fashion, rather than the old tradition of declaring your adoration for a band by buying a cheap, scratchy t-shirt from a guy outside one of their gigs for double what anybody in their right, sober mind would pay. Somebody somewhere has sold these shops the rights to these images, clearly with the intention of making a quick buck out of fashionable no-brainers.
This is wrong. Using a famous, respectable band as some kind of lazy freak cred is simply not acceptable. “Hey, look. I like the Clash.” Yes, and your favourite song is “Rock the Casbah,” but mainly because it was used in that Simpsons episode once. So go ahead and dilute the memory of iconic bands by using their name as a fashion label. Shit, I bet Joe Strummer would just love that idea. He might even have written a song about it, maybe “White Man In Hammersmith TopMan, Making a Tit of Himself By Pretending to be Cool”. Stay away and you will not feel my violent, bloody wrath.
-Arctic Monkeys are full up, they’re at bursting point. They’re a good band, thus far, and they deserve acclaim for making a commendable pop record, but projecting them as the saviours of rock and roll as we know it helps nobody. The NME putting them at No.5 in their list of the best British albums ever, above and around the very bands that fathered and nurtured their exact sound (Libertines, Clash, Smiths, Stone Roses, Beatles, Blur, Oasis et al), is a ridiculous, frustrating and, ultimately selfish (there’s a strong theory that the NME pushed the Arctic Monkeys so strongly in this issue in order to sell out their NME Rock ‘n’ Roll Riot tour) thing to do. By all means, enjoy AM’s ability to soak up and explore an outstanding history of great British music, but remember that that is all it ever is: it’s elaboration on a well-established tradition. It’s not another London Calling, Up The Bracket or The Queen is Dead.
Have you written all of that down? Good. Come back for the next instalment and I’ll give you Part 2, where I shall help you achieve Hipster Nirvana and point you in the right direction. Aren’t I a nice guy.
***
With no Glasto this year, it’s up to the Reading and Leeds Weekenders to take up the baton as the biggest music festival going on in Britain this summer. I bet it feels like the little brother asked to unscrew the jam jar for Mum because big brother’s out getting the baddies. Or something like that. You grew up once, you get my drift.
The Weekender line-ups have just been announced and, in the absence of Big G for the students’ annual piss up, tickets have been snapped up like dancing space at a Go! Team gig. Pay careful attention:
Franz Ferdinand
Kaiser Chiefs
Audioslave
Feeder
Belle and Sebastian
Fall Out Boy (Reading only)
The Subways
Panic! At The Disco
Primal Scream
Muse
Arctic Monkeys
The Streets
Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Dirty Pretty Things
The Futureheads
The Cribs
Wolfmother
The Raconteurs
Pearl Jam
Placebo
My Chemical Romance
Maximo Park
The Rakes
The Kooks
Muse, Franz Ferdinand and Pearl Jam will be headlining. Pearl Jam… seriously?
Highlights should include Belle and Sebastian at their twee-est, Franz at their dance-popiest, the Streets saying “geezer” loads and making all the big blokes cry, the Muse freaks freaking out at seeing Matt Bellamy strutting his festival forte, a small army battalion of art-pop-punk (Kaisers, Futureheads, Cribs, Rakes, Kooks) bands and, probably most of all, me, sitting at home booing Fall Out Boy from the comfort of my sofa.
Full details here, or wherever else you fancy.
David Segurola