Friday, June 29, 2007

Oh come on, Axl! The world NEEDS a little reinventing now and then...

My old Army buddy Matt from Michigan (wow, I have "old Army buddies") had a song (which has recently been "Deleted by Artist") on his MySpace profile that I really dug. It's by a punk band from Florida called Against Me!, and is titled "Reinventing Axl Rose". Rockin' song, intriguing title. And so I did a little internet research and found the following video (it clears up after a few seconds)...



Now if this story is true, then-in my opinion at least-the whole situation is incredibly cool on several different levels. Especially when you consider the lyrics...

"Reinventing Axl Rose"

We want a band that plays loud and hard every night
That doesn't care how many people are counted at the door
That would travel one million miles and ask for nothing more than a plate of food and a place to rest
They'd strike chords that cut like a knife
It would mean so much more than t-shirts or a ticket stub
They'd stop at nothing short of a massacre
Everyone would leave with the memory that there was no place else in the world
And this was where they always belonged
We would dance like no one was watching
With one fist in the air
Our arena just basements and bookstores across an underground America
With this fire we could light
Just gimme a scene where the music is free
And the beer is not the life of the party
There's no need to shit talk or impress
'Cause honesty and emotion are not looked down upon
And every promise that's made and bragged
is meant if not kept
We'd do it all because we have to, not because we know why
Beyond a gender, race, and class, we could find what really holds us back
Let's make everybody sing
That they are the beginning and ending of everything
That we all are stronger than everything they taught us that we should fear

It all comes across as just some wild, passionate, drunken rant that was scrawled on a napkin in a bar, and which was then put to music. Of course, the cynic and skeptic in me has considered the possibility that, unknown to all the sweaty, moshing kids screaming the lyrics word for word, there are corporate forces intentionally trying to orchestrate this as a "Nirvana slays the hair bands" paradigm shift, which would then make this a bunch of contrived, empty hype. And that would be assuming that the story wasn't created by someone bullshitting their friend over a beer somewhere just for kicks. Still, even though I'm knocking on the door of 3o-and I swear that I'm not getting maudlin here-I can still enjoy the stark, black and white, us-against-them, youthful idealism of a punk band yearning for a band that would travel a million miles and ask for nothing more than a plate of food and a place to rest. I mean, it's all about the music right? Of course, I'm old enough to know that it's not all so simple. If nothing else, it's still a great soundtrack to enjoying a tall, chilled glass of Guinness.

1 Comments:

At 6:04 AM, Blogger J-Syn said...

The other night I was out and about with my friend Marc. As you know I'm pushing thirty; Marc crossed that line in the sand fairly recently. Mayhap inevitably, we had this conversation.

Me- There are all these albums I bought as a teenager. You know, bands I was SUPPOSED to like, but I couldn't get into them back then. But I listen to those records now and they're the greatest things ever. Like the earlier Pixies albums, sweet Jesus cuppin'-cakes Christ!

He- Word.

Me- The irony is that right now there are a bunch of teenagers who've rediscovered this 20+ year-old music, picked up some guitars and are jamming that shit out RIGHT NOW in the all-ages alterna-bar down the street.

He- Of course if we went down there we'd be to self-conscious about being the creepy old guys to enjoy ourselves, even though now we have enough money to buy as much beer as we want.

Me- Life is cruel.

He- Let's get out of here. I'm tired of listening to this crappy reggae band.

...and moments later we heard the music blasting out of the tiny dive bar down the street. Inside were The Hotrods, a "Metalbilly" band home-based in Atlanta. All in their late-twenties/early-thirties. Bearded, tattooed and pleather-panted, it was clear that none of The Hotrods had day jobs. They played with a purity of purpose born of having blown every other shot life had to offer, this was the last card in their deck. So it was to be that Marc and I, with the help of a pitcher or so of Pabst Blue Ribbon, moshed our angst away. Which is why I love rock and roll, and why I'd like to put another dime in the jukebox. Baby.*

*from the hours of 5 p.m. Friday afternoon until 3 p.m Sunday

Disclaimer- the tracks on The Hotrod's MySpace page are pretty watered down.

 

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