And you never will be!

Funny story — "A guy walks up to me and asks 'What's Punk?'. So I kick over a garbage can and say 'That's punk!'. So he kicks over the garbage can and says 'That's Punk?', and I say 'No that's trendy!'". Yup, straight from the mouth of Billie Joe Armstrong and into my ears and out onto this hallowed cultural text or palimpsest, if you prefer.

I bet you're wondering what it is that's got me so riled up this time; enough to start off this latest post with an obscure story that has little to no relevance to anything apart from the fact that the Greenday of today are an absolutely turgid musical act, peddling consumer-oriented tripe like Boulevard of Broken Dreams. It beggars belief how a band that spat out such rabid albums as Kerplunk, Dookie and Nimrod could have degenerated into this horribly manufactured-sounding, made-for-radio, play-it-safe, eat-your-vitamins, say-your-prayers excuse for what once was a punk band.

Punk, you say? "As in black t-shirts and safety pins?", I hear some of you ask? And I answer, "no, pay attention!". That word scratched crudely across t-shirts worn by preppy and trendy girls with their Levi jeans, Prada or Louis Vuitton bags and odd hairstyles — all of which change with each passing season? They wouldn't know punk if it came up and bit them in the ass. Neither it would seem would a certain singer who mistakes punks for hippies!! Honestly, what self-respecting punk would have flowers in their hair?

But enough of what it isn't. What punk was — and I do mean it in the past tense because I honestly believe that punk is well and truly dead or on its last legs at the very least — was a movement, not a genre of music or a fashion statement. It stood for the anti-establishment, rebellion, wrecked-beyond-belief tape players belching out the sounds of The Clash or Sex Pistols and for once, standing dead in one's tracks with one's middle finger held high in the air to say, "No, I will not comply". Punk was never about drugs, alcohol, tattoos or torn clothes. For its part, punk certainly had its fair share of idiots who were hell-bent on ruining it for everyone else with violence, vandalism and wanton destruction. Very understandably, the scene had its detractors who branded everyone associated with the word punk as being hoodlums, louts, yobs yada yada yada. Who gives a crap? That was the romance of punk — You and me against the world, baby!

You think any of these trendy little pre-pubescent fools have a clue about that when they carefully spin the spinny thing on their iPods and press the middle button to start the whiny cribbings of Good Charlotte or Avril Lavigne and weep about how the world is so unfair, their friends don't like them and Mom and Dad just don't understand that homework sucks. That's why I said punk is dead or nearly there and from the looks of things, it ain't making a miraculous recovery anytime soon. As for the idiots who think they're punk, the less said the better.

Manufacturing ignorance

I don't always subscribe to the adage that a picture is worth a thousand words, but in this case, I'm forced to agree.

Look at it! It tells you everything you need to know about the lines and lines that are inevitably going to follow this rambling (as always) opening salvo (paragraph, to some of you). Today, the subject of my amusement/bemusement/wrath/scorn/hate isn't one that I decided to write about as a result of my own train of thought. My muse decided to work overtime today and mention the topic and like any journalist worth his salt, I snapped it up as a story idea. Cool, non? And now, without further ado, let's be getting on with the actual story.

Not a day goes by when I don't walk past some clown sporting a Ché Guevara t-shirt, whether the conventional red screen print — that seems to be most in vogue, what with the commie red — or some more elaborate designs and a collage of his images splattered all over a garden variety black t-shirt. It isn't so much that I'm opposed to Communism per se. For the record, however, I will add that I don't really think it's a feasible or viable system for governance in most of India; that's an opinion by the way. And for another record, if you like it so much, go to Kolkata.

Moving on, I'd like to reiterate that I don't really have a problem with Ernesto Guevara or his beliefs — a terrorist to some and a revolutionary to others. What I do have a problem with is ignorant idiots who'll buy t-shirts with his visage adorning them, without knowing a thing about him, let alone the fact that he was actually an Argentine or anything about his ideologies and beliefs. In fact, I'd be willing to wager that they probably think he's the frontman for Rage Against The Machine or something. I can imagine it now:

Halfwit: Yeah yeah man... me and my boyeez are down wid' da rage. We loves Cooper O' Sullivan
Fullwit: Who? Cooper O' wha-... What the hell?
Halfwit: Yeah, you know... this guy right here *points at his t-shirt and specifically at the communist star on Ché's beret* He's all about keepin' it real!
Fullwit: *finds his palm hurtling toward halfwit's face and loud slapping sound echoes*

The brunt of this trend of stupidity isn't borne solely by ol' Mr Guevara either. Rock and metal bands also find themselves on the receiving end of this nonsense. In fact, there's two rather amusing incidents to which I had the hilarious honour of being privy. The first revolves around this little boy who lived next door to me, who I happen to spot one day in a Slipknot t-shirt. I commented on it, wondering just what a kid that tiny could see in a band like Slipknot. He informed me with a grin that he just thought the t-shirt was cool and told his mom to buy it for him. Being as it was a kid, I thought nothing of it.

A few years later, a good pal of mine who shall be henceforth referred to as AJG comes across some meathead testosterone-fuelled nugget, sporting an Alice in Chains t-shirt at some gig (can't recall). So as is AJG's wont, he went to talk Alice in Chains with the gent. Said meathead has no idea what AJG's talking about, much less that a band called Alice in Chains happens to exist! He probably thought it was Cooper O' Sullivan too.

So what does this boil down to? Are these just the rants of an elitist, who expects people to know everything about what they wear? It could be argued that it isn't that important to know what's on your t-shirt as long as it's comfortable and looks good. And I could well argue that the maker of the previous argument is a grade-A moron (BURN!!). And this is where the manufacture of ignorance steps in to the picture. Chomsky spoke of consent being manufactured by governments and those in power. I speak of t-shirt printers that are laughing their way to the bank, selling a bunch of trendy/poser idiots their wares, covered with "cool stuff" all over them. They don't create t-shirt designs. They don't manufacture ignorance (the trendies do it themselves), they just exploit the lack of awareness possessed by halfwits (who it may be added, will do anything to "be cool") and what a fine job they do of it(!)

There's far too much to go into here - FCUK t-shirts, tops with CUBA lettered on them or the Union Jack emblazoned across them or even replica football jerseys for some team that the wearer has probably never even heard of. Ultimately, when one chooses what logo, phrase or image will be proudly splashed across one's torso, one accepts a certain attachment to and dare I say, responsibility for it. For instance, one can't walk around wearing a t-shirt with Hitler on it and claim not to know the implications of it. Everything has its implications and consequences. Even sporting cool logos.