From the department of self-flagellating, whinging, neurotic singers, division6.
I like rock music. People don’t usually expect it of me; depending on how quickly new people judge me, they either expect me to boogie down to Beethoven, Shah Rukh Khan or Britney Spears. Truth be told, I was one of those kids who turned up at school with no idea what kind of music he liked and was led down the moderately hard rockin’ crowd. Ah, the days of sitting in the common room in our smoking jackets, warming ourselves by a hot fire, with a large mug of tea, a pipe whilst singing “Welcome to the Jungle”… Hang on, that’s not quite what happened…
But never mind. The point is that my rockin’ has always been rather sedate; nothing like that of Jack Black’s, Marilyn Manson, or Axl Rose’s school. Punk skipped me entirely. In 1994, however, I got introduced to the Offspring, and their brand of tepid anti-establishment sentiment really got me going. And needless to say, the Offspring and Green Day were just a tip of a ‘Neopunk’ revolution that today has led to such things as ‘Skater Punk’ which today sometimes includes bands like Simple Plan, Bowling for Soup, Blink 182, Avril Lavigne (yes, yes, I know) and even my old favourites, the Offspring.
It seems that the establishment has stopped bothering these guys. Now that they’re all loaded, and the Republican government is giving all the Americans a big tax cut (surely the Canadians should still be p*ssed off), the only institution they seem to have left to fight against is… wait for it… women!
Bladihell. It’s ridiculous. I was checking out Launch.com in a fairly regular attempt to find myself some new music, and I watched a video of Blink 182 waxing nostalgic after some ex-girlfriend, followed rapidly by Simple Plan doing the same thing. Not that this should have been unexpected, but it just struck me as tedious and whiney; these guys don’t strike the same emotional chord as Cat Stevens with ‘The First Cut is the Deepest’, or really hit on any real sentiment other than luke-warm never-ending self-pitying loathing. Say what you want about Mr Manson (Marilyn, not Charles), he’s not a whinger.
It’s almost enough to drive a man to…