More than a feeling
(More than a feeee-ling)
Ah, prog rock. The harmonies are as big as the hair, as tight as the flares, and the guitars as dirty as bong water.
One keyboard is never enough.
Dentist schmentist.
Capes are for Gods among men...of rock.
Now, banished to the AM dial, prog sits in the corner of an attic filled with Pac-Man t-shirts, rubik's cubes, brown corduroy bean-bags and airbrushed posters of wizards riding dragons.
No song had meaning if it was less than seven minutes long. If your band had less than six members and/or no keyboard player - forget it!
And then punk rock came along and the boogie van dream died. The ELO was switched off, Rush crawled to a halt and people said "No" to Yes.
Our fathers smoked pot to these bands. They made out to them, played Asteroids to them, and listened to them after school, sharing a stolen beer with mates. It must have meant something to them, even if we don't feel it in the same way.
I found myself starting to buy this music this week. It reminded me of the old AM radio stations Mum used to listen to in the green Datsun when she would drop us off to school.
I think I'm reaching for something that has slowly been tapering off, generation after generation...some kind of youthful purpose or frivolity that has worn away in a world of ever-increasing seriousness and pressure. People used to be kids until they were twenty-one. Now they're lucky to get to twelve before they're getting fingered on the swings, drunk on Malibu and stressing about their university course.
So feather your hair and hit the roller disco, outdoor gig or boogie van. This music may be the last gasp of youthful exuberance and expression there ever was...sans agenda.
(More than a feeee-ling)
Ah, prog rock. The harmonies are as big as the hair, as tight as the flares, and the guitars as dirty as bong water.
One keyboard is never enough.
Dentist schmentist.
Capes are for Gods among men...of rock.
Now, banished to the AM dial, prog sits in the corner of an attic filled with Pac-Man t-shirts, rubik's cubes, brown corduroy bean-bags and airbrushed posters of wizards riding dragons.
No song had meaning if it was less than seven minutes long. If your band had less than six members and/or no keyboard player - forget it!
And then punk rock came along and the boogie van dream died. The ELO was switched off, Rush crawled to a halt and people said "No" to Yes.
Our fathers smoked pot to these bands. They made out to them, played Asteroids to them, and listened to them after school, sharing a stolen beer with mates. It must have meant something to them, even if we don't feel it in the same way.
I found myself starting to buy this music this week. It reminded me of the old AM radio stations Mum used to listen to in the green Datsun when she would drop us off to school.
I think I'm reaching for something that has slowly been tapering off, generation after generation...some kind of youthful purpose or frivolity that has worn away in a world of ever-increasing seriousness and pressure. People used to be kids until they were twenty-one. Now they're lucky to get to twelve before they're getting fingered on the swings, drunk on Malibu and stressing about their university course.
So feather your hair and hit the roller disco, outdoor gig or boogie van. This music may be the last gasp of youthful exuberance and expression there ever was...sans agenda.
VIEW 10 of 10 COMMENTS
bridehead:
Ran into the lovely miss Emma at the Townie last night! 
spookshow_baby:
where is Dapper?
