Musings on the divine (haircut)

Greetings fellow blog monkeys and welcome to the first blog of the new haircut.  That’s right kids the legendary pointy bit atop my head has gone to meet its maker and I am now in that uncomfortable transitional period between hawk and attractiveness.  After 6 or so years together I will miss the ol guy, but the idea of not being associated with dead shits who spray anarchy symbols on their parent’s double garage doors without investing any time into what that circled A actually means, is a wonderful thing and has given me extra bounce in my step.  In my punk rock career I have met too few people with that haircut that could squeeze a coherent sentence out of their slack jawed drooling mouths.  Some people say “It’s just a haircut dude, chill the fuck out, MASH is on in five” and that’s fair enough I guess.  To me it represents the fun and stupidity of the scene, but to some it’s just a licence to be a fuckhead.  That’s what punk rock has become these days.  A mixture of fuckheadedness and mediocrity.  Don’t get me wrong, there are still some great bands out there, but the energy and vibrancy seems all too subdued for my liking.  What happened to the idea of seeing something like Jello Biafra with his white gloves on poorly miming a hostage interrogation scene....oh yeah...it’s waaay in the past...get over it Marv...that crazy Klinger! Ha!! He’ll never get out of the army!  

I’d just like to see more bands taking bigger risks nowadays is all.  Some do obviously, but a lot seem to think that a few boring songs you have heard a million times before and absolutely no stage presence gives you the right to get on stage and call yourselves entertainment.  Or in the crusty world, where all you need to get on stage is pointy hair and a leather jacket your parents bought you that costs more than my entire wardrobe!  Have you seen those guys that wear pants made entirely out band patches?  Those things aint cheap and still your trying to maintain the image that you woke up next to a grouchy Muppet named Oscar!  Plus...I mean shit...I had a Mohawk for all that time and I could never ever get it to stay upright in the same way that they did.  And the imagery that’s conjured up of spending nine hours in front of the mirror to achieve hawk perfection seems contradictory, ludicrous and also... pretty damn funny.

A big problem for me in the land of punk rockington is that to me, it seems that some of my favourite bands from the 90’s era seem to think that releasing half arsed albums that deliberately smack of little effort is o.k.  They seem to think that not trying to push themselves musically or creatively is acceptable because they were awesome in the past.  No.  Fucking retire.  Being a bit shit may be mildly amusing, but if you are... then...why the fuck am I listening to you?  

Ah fuck it...who cares...when’s MASH on?

Anyway get down to see the mighty Melbourne Ice play the Bears this Sunday at the Olympic Ice Arena.  It’s one of your last chances for the year for some old time hockey and the Ice are killing at the mo.
Also...I get to go the Scienceworks Star Wars exhibit this week.  So stay tuned for a blog of epic wookie proportions. Weee!!!

Fuck Paul McDermott