Friday, December 16, 2005

Faking the Fruit of Non-Existent Labours
...is the Aging of Bad Wine


Coat-Tailers Come in All Ages
(cue music: 'Grandpa Volleyball')

Dank, pissy vinegar, how secretly bitter art thou...

   We've seen this before. Music, generational gaps and the affirmation of hip credentials. From Boomers lecturing Gen X, to 70's dinosaurs claiming credit for Grunge, musicians of one decade tut-tutting those of another aren't anything new. But what about non-artists who try to make the same generational argument?
   Certain folks name-drop willy-nilly about scenesters of yesteryear, yet knowing they themselves contributed nothing 'back in the day' but pogo-posturing and convenient cleaving to collective coat-tailing.

And today? Still nothing to show other than smug, self-satisfied sniffings about how 'you weren't there.'
   Yeah. Like the fact that you stood in the middle of the old Classic City Rock Club in 1982 with your thumb up your ass hitting on everything that happened to walk by while some band was trying to rock out somehow magically gives you the cred to wag fingers at people half your age who dare attempt to engage in some creative venture without properly pledging fealty to All That Have Rocked Before Us.
   Even people your age who were there at the time shake their heads at you, as they were actually busy being artists, musicians... you know, actually creating things.   How about the next time Scenester Reunion rolls around, you regale some 22-year-old scene hag with Tales of Back Then. That way you can drag her in and show those old Gray Ponytails that you still got it and always had it. Yeah, that'll show 'em.
   In the end, it's kinda obvious to everyone that you were just another face in the crowd at a certain time and place, deserving no more merit than any other bystander who happens to witness life passing them by with a yawn.

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