In the greatest rock documentary of all time, when the drummer of Spinal Tap is asked how he would feel if the band broke up, he replies that so long as there is still sex and drugs, it doesn’t matter too much if there isn’t any more rock ‘n’ roll. Two out of three is never bad, especially when it is those two in particular. But it is the music that allows for the excesses in the other two areas of the unholy trinity.
Music, then, is sometimes simply a means to an end. Or rather, the music is a means to getting your end away. Since the dawn of time young men have formed bands to get girls. Of course, thousands of years ago these bands were comprised of cavemen with clubs, but the principle is the same; the only thing to have changed are the tools of the trade – the cavemen now have guitars and only play in clubs.
What is it about girls that they immediately fancy any guy in a band? Shove an ugly bloke on stage, put a guitar around his neck and suddenly he is God’s latest gift since Mick pranced off to the nursing home.
I was mulling over this fact in a club the other night while watching a group of unremarkable lads murder the Stones classic Doo Doo Doo Doo Doo (Heartbreaker), to the rapture of eight young girls and would-be groupies, who had probably never heard the original. Now far be it from me to say don’t (don’t don’t etc) because it was clear the girls really would be groupies as soon as this last song was hurriedly brought to an end. So, if you’re ugly or just not getting any lately, the answer is to form a band.
The next group on that night had a female vocalist, a rock vixen with the cock-sure audacity of Courtney Love and the stage presence of Jim Morrison. Immediately I understood what the female fans feel: awe. I didn’t head for the front of the stage or throw my knickers at her or anything but I was captivated and seduced nonetheless. This sex bomb prowled about the small raised platform like a wild tigress and promptly fell off. I wanted her all the more. I was the groupie to be and I longed for access all areas. I made my way to the bar to buy her a vodka.
Well, I can’t say that sleeping with future rock goddess Eva did my ego any harm, unless it getting bigger is a bad thing (so most friends will undoubtedly think it is). I wanted her because she was attractive, yes, every guy in the joint probably thought that he’d ‘give her one’. But her lyrics, when they could be understood, were beautiful; I felt like I really knew this girl even before she left the stage (head first).
As it turns out the guitarist, Mike, wrote the lyrics, and she was boring as hell in bed, which only goes to show that contents and packaging are rarely in tune. As for her singing, well, ‘in tune’ would have been a good start.