So I guess I have to face the fact that I’m never going to be an international playboy rock star touring the world’s exotic playgrounds, playing sell out concerts in huge stadiums and partying with hoards of nubile young groupies. I suppose I need to accept that I’ll never see scores of reporters and photographers get involved in a scrum with my personal security team at the airport as I calmly make my way through the melee in scruffy designer clothes and shockingly over priced sun glasses. At thirty two years old I have to concede that regardless of all those years of rehearsing for such an outcome, rock star I am not.
Of course it might have helped if I had learned to play more than two cords and one bad riff on the guitar. I suppose that actually owning a guitar would have been a good idea too. I can sing though, well kind of.. Okay, I haven’t actually ever sung in public or in the presence of other human beings, but when I’m driving on a long motorway trip late at night I can bellow a few reasonable notes. Ah fair enough, I can’t sing either. But come on, how important is all that these days anyway?
I can shake a tambourine, but then how many of the posters that adorn the walls of University students bedrooms feature a big name rock star wildly playing a tambourine? Hang on though, doesn’t Michael Stipe from R.E.M play the tambourine? But wait a second, he wears make up and is constantly in some kind of personal identity dilemma so that’s no good. Mind you though, he’s still Michael Stipe from R.E.M isn’t he.
I wouldn’t want to be the drummer. Who would? How many drummers names do you know? The drummer is always the guy at the back of the stage, the back of the pictures and at the back of the line as the band trail through the arrival area at the airport of whatever country they’ve just arrived in. I bet the drummer never gets the good groupies. Mind you, following that train of thought for a second, how bad can a bad groupie actually be?
I can’t really write songs either. It’s just that bit too close to poetry for me, and I can’t stand most poetry. It seems to me all you have to do to be a poet is… [Click here to continue reading this article at ‘Meanwhile’]