Sonic Stereotypes - Too Kool F'Skool Indie Wallflower
Go into any indie club on a weekend, or a Thursday night even, and you’ll be bombarded with more Sonic Stereotypes than you can shake a stick fulla ‘tude at. You’ll get B-Siders and the more extreme version, the Indie Wallflower. Now, the Indie Wallflower isn’t just some kid who is too shy to dance and talk to girls. This cat thinks he’s too cool for all that. He’s a bit distant. He’s a bit mysterious. He’s pissed on cider and is dying for you to approach him.
Yup. These deadbeats can be found hanging around a wall looking a bit bored and disinterested because, like, this ain’t a patch on that guerrilla gig that was in the middle of another guerrilla gig that I went to. Like, this place is such a drag. His nonchalant nature gives an air of opium dens and going back to his for interesting and seedy sex and poetry. The reality of it is a fumble in a car park behind the club because he can’t take y’home as he’ll wake his mum up… and she has to work at the council chambers early tomorrow.
Are you one of those people that likes to talk throughout a gig? Then sorry, you don’t deserve to live. When I think of all the times I’ve been to watch a band, every single memory is sullied by the recalling of a buncha cackling idiots yelling toward each other. Think of the places for a chat. Pub. Front room. Restaurant. Street corner. Telephone. JUST DON’T F****** DO IT AT A GIG, RIGHT? Sadly, these brain donors don’t grasp the fact that, because the music is so loud at gigs, they have to up their volume to talk. The louder the band, the louder the moron.
Everyone is at the party man! Everyone is having fun! One gal, dancing in the corner isn’t really into the tunes but she’s into getting drunk and having a bit of a dance with her mates. Those kids over there… they’re having a ball! Wasted, dancing to generic third rate indie crap… and loving it! These are the people who will get the girls. The one person who won’t is sat in the corner, drinking to deal with everything. Jeez. Nothing is good enough for him… man… he tried to put on some obscure Egyptian prog on before but we soon dealt with that.
We’ve all seen ‘em. You’re at a club or a house party and everyone is having a gay old time… and then, about 3am, post other party, some moron turns up full of Es hopping around acting all… wacky. While the rest of the room sinks into a funk of too much booze and tiredness, these dummy sucking blockheads charge around asking if anyone has any roaching material and sticking 3000mph cartoon rave music on the stereo.
We’ve all seen a B-sider. You may not have given them a name yet, but you’ve seen one. Go to any gig and get down the front and you’ll find a myriad of B-siders, all clutching their hearts and singing ALL the words to ALL the songs… especially the B-sides.
Go into any record shop on a weekday and you’ll find The Record Spod. The Spod knows everything about his chosen love, be it Genesis, New Order or the works of Warren Zevon. To buy records by said artists simply isn’t enough. Eyeball touching sleeve, they squint with blinking mole eyes (a result of spending too long in darkened rooms leafing through old copies of Record Collector) to see if the LP they hold is that release with the slight misprint on the serial number. If it is, they’ll thrill at how this is one of only eight copies of the (financially) worthless record in existence.
At almost every gig, and in almost every record shop, you’ll find the old hippie. Flicking through dog-eared copies of Making Waves by Focus and Flying Teapot by Gong, the hippie will occasionally raise a weary head and jangle the beads around his head in disapproval at just about anything modern. Raised on psychedelia, cutting his teeth on prog, this hippie longs for the halcyon days when bands wore their hair long and their guitar solos even longer.
