When the Death Star comes, (as it must) to destroy all that is rank and fetid in the world of music, there will be survivors…
…not the preening, self absorbed bastard offspring of reality TV and the tyranny that is the “X Chromosome (sic) Factor”…, but those that had the foresight and inclination to drink deeply from the wellspring of rock history.
A couple of nights ago, for around two hours, I was transported back to the mid 1970’s, with memories of teenage inarticulacy, and an obsession with heavy metal. (Mr Strummer & his revolutionary cohort hadn’t as yet turned my head…but that’s (maybe) for another day). Riffs that bludgeoned you into submission, and were so loud that communication with anyone else was impossible. Such were the essential accompaniments to the ritual of male bonding. Ozzy may well have been singing about Sweet Leaf and of being Snow-blind but in truth, for me at least, beer was the principle mood altering substance of the day….the eventual catalyst for a frenzied bout of head-banging in the middle of the floor of whatever venue you were at.
Rule 1: No eye contact with anyone
Rule 2: At no time should any head-banging be remotely in time with the music that was playing
Rule 3: Under no circumstances should synchronised head-banging take place. This marked you down as a Status Quo fan, and therefore not capable of being a freedom fighter from the empires of the eternal void
Rule 4: Any attempts to talk to members of the opposite sex must be prefaced with the mantra ‘evil woman don’t you play your games with me’.
Rule 5: ‘Devil’s horns’ hand signals should not be carried out at the same time as holding a full pint of snakebite. Spillage of any description may prevent you from leaving the earth to all its sin and hate, or finding another world where freedom waits….
If only life remained that simple…
Black Sabbath at the O2… legend!!