Congratulations Salem!

I have often been accused of being a negative bastard. In an effort to shun this reputation, I’ve recently started trying new things like being complimentary – by the way, nice t-shirt! – and – though it makes me look like Johnny Knoxville’s saggy-skinned alien in Men In Black – I’ve even had a bash at smiling.

With this in mind, today I was going to write a nice blog about how retro pop is the order of the day. How, in recent years, the mainstream revival of old school pop icons – mainly female, artificially reanimated walking mannequins called things like “Duffy” and “Amy Winehouse” – has been mirrored in the (largely American) indie undercurrent of 2010 where it’s been made over by a layer or two of wishy-washy Jesus And Mary Chain hiss and fizz. I was going to point out how we’ve now got The Drums (who’re all retro surf-songs and choreographed hand-claps), Crocodiles (who fight the drone by being obstinately melodic), The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart, Dum Dum Girls and Best Coast (whose binary love/hate lyrics hammer the point into your forehead with excruciating incessancy). I tottered into work on a cloud of euphoria and late sixties love, with a headful of Phil Spector and The Ronettes.

Instead, when I got here, this video of professional rich-kid dunces Salem came drumming (arythmically) on my eyeballs:

Yep, at 1.38, that’s an actual person sitting down on the stage smoking. I mean, don’t they know that that’s BANNED? I’m just guessing that it’s a Marlboro Light, but hell, it could even be a jazz cigarette. You know? One containing Marijuana. These guys are just that crazy. They don’t give a shit about the rules. There’s even a naughty line about blowjobs! Mary Whitehouse is going to have a field day with this lot. Oh shit, she’s dead!

I’m all for being punk as fuck and celebrating the Brian Jonesness of having your amp turned off during a gig because you’re just too minced to stop your eyeballs from staring each other out, but this is just lame. Did Sid Vicious swear his head off at Bill Grundy so the kids of today could mumble in front of a Korg and a corporate banner? I don’t think so.

Sigh. Jesus fucking Christ.

So thanks a lot, Salem. You’ve set me back on the road to Negativity. Destination: Gloom Town, Brownshire. Near the sewage works. I’m off to thwack a puppy with a stick. Bye.