Cockswain

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I went with Sally to see Graham Coxon at the Astoria. It was weird. I didn’t really know his solo stuff but Graham Coxon was alright, did a top job, punked it up a bit, few good songs, lovely. However, the crowd were a little strange.

There was a mosh pit. The mosh pit were rocking out, throwing themselves towards the stage like the young scallywags they were, plenty of injuries and sweat and swilled beer. Well done the mosh pit. Sally and I got through them quite easily, they being enthusiastic weaklings and us being hardened rock chicks (that’s my version of the story). However, at the front left of the stage where we positioned ourselves to annoy the guitarist it was a different story.

Hordes of petite pretty women in ultrahip outfits stood still – some perfectly still – showing no signs of enjoyment whatsoever. The band poured out songs through which I would find it incredibly difficult to remain static if listening through my headphones on the tube. They responded with a credible impression of Topshop mannequins (only one or two people away from the bouncing throng) looking miserable. Fair enough if this was slow, sad music, but it wasn’t. They lined the whole front of the stage.

If they did make a move it was simple; one arm aloft, pointing and clicking with the mobile phone. Not just one or two, oh no, all of them. As though they’ll show or send the photos later, to tell their mates “yeah I was at Graham Coxon, look at the fun everyone else was having”. “I was there because I’m so hip, I know all about Blur and shit, I was there you know.” So what’s the point in that?

Dave and I discussed it last night. He reckons it’s the media’s fault – telling you what you should like, how you should dress, where you should go. I guess you get there, it’s not where you really want to be so you take photographs by way of compensation to pretend you’ve been having fun. Or you go there just to take photos to add to your porfolio of cool… there’s me in the tent at Glastonbury, there’s me next to someone who knows Danny from Supergrass, there’s The Kaiser Chiefs. I used to love James Blunt, me, but now everyone says he’s shit.

I’m often tempted by events because it would be great to say “I was there”. But while you’re there, enjoy yourself. Even if you don’t really want to be there, find some fun. Or leave. People! Be happy! Do I really have to tell you this?

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5 Responses to “Cockswain”

  1. jennifer Says:

    That’s a good analysis there. I had a similar problem last night at the Pet Shop Boys. Sure, it was in a massive seated theatre, but it’s like the best live disco ever. How are you gonna stay seated during “Go West,” “It’s a Sin,” and “Left to my own Devices?”

    Most of the queens around me got on up so I didn’t feel like a sore thumb. But at the beginning, this old biddy behind me told both me and Martin to sit down. If I’d had another drink in me, I would have retorted and told her to fuck off and go home to her knitting. (Sorry knitters)

    In the end, I was definitely the most enthusiastic of the crowd in my area, and I can’t believe I’d have to tell a bunch of fruits to take the stick out their ass and DANCE. It’s the bloody PET SHOP BOYS!

  2. Wood Says:

    Listen to James Blunt all you like. Who cares? If you’re deriving pleasure from it, you’re all right.

  3. triciand Says:

    My point precisely.

    But I don’t like James Blunt, Wood, as you well know!

  4. hqabu Says:

    Good site!!!

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