Sex and violence and rock and roll...
Sunday, 22 October 2006 19:24![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
apollaHeather Mills really will do anything, won't she? Even if her accusations (including that Paul beat Linda) are true... wouldn't it have been best to keep it in the courtroom and not everywhere else?
Still, he wouldn't be the only Beatle to have suffered from a giant ego or beaten his wife. He has taken all manner of drugs and quite openly said so. He does drink, sometimes to excess. He does surround himself with people too willing to do exactly what he wants. Still, I find it hard to believe his children would adore him so much if he'd beaten their mother. I don't know. I hope that it's all false- I'd rather believe her a mental fantasist than reconcile myself to another of my heroes being a total cunt. Mind you, he'd be in populous company.
Anyway, I scribbled this a few weeks ago and thought I'd share it with you:
Still, he wouldn't be the only Beatle to have suffered from a giant ego or beaten his wife. He has taken all manner of drugs and quite openly said so. He does drink, sometimes to excess. He does surround himself with people too willing to do exactly what he wants. Still, I find it hard to believe his children would adore him so much if he'd beaten their mother. I don't know. I hope that it's all false- I'd rather believe her a mental fantasist than reconcile myself to another of my heroes being a total cunt. Mind you, he'd be in populous company.
Anyway, I scribbled this a few weeks ago and thought I'd share it with you:
I've been attempting a brutal form of self-honesty lately as a form of self-therapy and entertainment for you. Manic-depression, writing, George and Freddie, the rest. Since it got me under-whelming praise, I thought I'd continue along that same path- if it's broke, why fuck about and make things worse, right?
This is about sex and rock and roll. Of all the shite I've spewed about rock music, I've never really talked about those two things closely. I've made jokes and pointed remarks, I've acknowledged the sex in the music, but when it comes to the music I love, it's remained in the deep background, stuffed into a trouser joke.
Fact is, the musicians whose music I love also happen to have been sexy as all anything. I'm talking about Plant shimmying to Whole Lotta Love, or Jim doing The End, or George's grinning video for This Song or Philip's cheeky arse-grabbing video for Dancing In The Moonlight... you know their names, you know the music.
I don't know how to explain this, because I really never have talked about it. I've avoided even thinking about it, mostly because Fate decreed that my great musical loves be either late-middle-aged or just plain dead.
But the fact is this, and let me call the spade the fucking spade: If I were there in 1967 and Jim Morrison asked nicely, soberly, I probably would've said yes. If I were in 1973 and Robert Plant asked nicely, I probably would've said yes. If I were there after 1974 and either Philip Lynott or Scott Gorham asked nicely, soberly, I probably would've said yes.
I woudn't willingly turn groupie, but I'm not a fool: I know what my reaction to being around them in their prime would have been. Disgust, possibly, but lightheadedness probably.
It's not an easy pill to swallow, by the way, knowing you'd willingly give up a chunk of yourself, of your own soul, to people who you know wouldn't actually give a fuck about you fifteen minutes later (if you're lucky, of course). I can't fool myself into thinking that I would be the girl to change any of them- I've never been that idealistic or naive.
It's a bitter pill to swallow, to know that the people who can so effortlessly make your blood run hot, are now dead. That you've missed the boat, even with the live ones, who are older than your mum (if only by one day in the youngest case). They're old and grey(ish), no longer svelte man-temples of godly perfection. Which is OK of course, and it's how the world is supposed to be. Except that to be thirty years younger than someone is another bitter pill.
I have been in the presence of two people mentioned above. One actually interacted with me personally for a whole thirty seconds. At no point did I think 'seriously man, do me now' because I missed that boat by a long way. That boat sailed in 197something. Besides, there's another reason for me to keep this close to my chest- it's the least important thing about it all. The very least.
For me to admit that yes, I would, immediately makes people looking in at my curious life from the outside think that it must be the biggest or only reason, because most people assume love is linked to sex, sex is linked to love and so on.
Just because I would have then doesn't explain why I love the music now. It is, in fact, the other way around- I love the music so much that I fall a little in love with the man behind it. Obviously there's a certain amount of personal taste involved, or the list above would've included Jimmy Page and John Paul Jones and John Bonham and Dean Martin, the other three Doors and the rest of Thin Lizzy.
It isn't always obviously why, although let's call a spade a spade again: I adore these beautiful men with their long hair and charming smiles. Without the locks, the curls or the afro, I might not have gazed so long... but the song remains the same and the song is always, always, always why I'm here in the first place. It's the music that makes the bitter pills easier to swallow, it's the music that allows me to forgive the darkness behind the bright smiles of all of htem.
But... yes, if I was there and they asked nicely, I probably would have. I would've preferred their respect and friendship above that, but yeah, I probably would have.
This is about sex and rock and roll. Of all the shite I've spewed about rock music, I've never really talked about those two things closely. I've made jokes and pointed remarks, I've acknowledged the sex in the music, but when it comes to the music I love, it's remained in the deep background, stuffed into a trouser joke.
Fact is, the musicians whose music I love also happen to have been sexy as all anything. I'm talking about Plant shimmying to Whole Lotta Love, or Jim doing The End, or George's grinning video for This Song or Philip's cheeky arse-grabbing video for Dancing In The Moonlight... you know their names, you know the music.
I don't know how to explain this, because I really never have talked about it. I've avoided even thinking about it, mostly because Fate decreed that my great musical loves be either late-middle-aged or just plain dead.
But the fact is this, and let me call the spade the fucking spade: If I were there in 1967 and Jim Morrison asked nicely, soberly, I probably would've said yes. If I were in 1973 and Robert Plant asked nicely, I probably would've said yes. If I were there after 1974 and either Philip Lynott or Scott Gorham asked nicely, soberly, I probably would've said yes.
I woudn't willingly turn groupie, but I'm not a fool: I know what my reaction to being around them in their prime would have been. Disgust, possibly, but lightheadedness probably.
It's not an easy pill to swallow, by the way, knowing you'd willingly give up a chunk of yourself, of your own soul, to people who you know wouldn't actually give a fuck about you fifteen minutes later (if you're lucky, of course). I can't fool myself into thinking that I would be the girl to change any of them- I've never been that idealistic or naive.
It's a bitter pill to swallow, to know that the people who can so effortlessly make your blood run hot, are now dead. That you've missed the boat, even with the live ones, who are older than your mum (if only by one day in the youngest case). They're old and grey(ish), no longer svelte man-temples of godly perfection. Which is OK of course, and it's how the world is supposed to be. Except that to be thirty years younger than someone is another bitter pill.
I have been in the presence of two people mentioned above. One actually interacted with me personally for a whole thirty seconds. At no point did I think 'seriously man, do me now' because I missed that boat by a long way. That boat sailed in 197something. Besides, there's another reason for me to keep this close to my chest- it's the least important thing about it all. The very least.
For me to admit that yes, I would, immediately makes people looking in at my curious life from the outside think that it must be the biggest or only reason, because most people assume love is linked to sex, sex is linked to love and so on.
Just because I would have then doesn't explain why I love the music now. It is, in fact, the other way around- I love the music so much that I fall a little in love with the man behind it. Obviously there's a certain amount of personal taste involved, or the list above would've included Jimmy Page and John Paul Jones and John Bonham and Dean Martin, the other three Doors and the rest of Thin Lizzy.
It isn't always obviously why, although let's call a spade a spade again: I adore these beautiful men with their long hair and charming smiles. Without the locks, the curls or the afro, I might not have gazed so long... but the song remains the same and the song is always, always, always why I'm here in the first place. It's the music that makes the bitter pills easier to swallow, it's the music that allows me to forgive the darkness behind the bright smiles of all of htem.
But... yes, if I was there and they asked nicely, I probably would have. I would've preferred their respect and friendship above that, but yeah, I probably would have.
