Living in sailor/redneck infested mulletown, one doesn’t get the opportunity to hang with Rock Stars as you might in the big city. Rock stars tend to avoid these parts, unless you count pre-fame shows in garages or venues played while on some crackerjack tour. In lieu of the absence of real rock stars, small town big shots emerge and try desperately to play the part. (You know the whole big fish small pond thang). In these parts, one can gain “Rock Star” status for the smallest link or 15 mins of fame. She is the sister of the cousin whose girlfriend is dating so-in-so rock star, or his face appeared in the crowd shot of this rock star video, or he was the toilet-paper-getter roadie for the tour of this band, or his band opened for a festival with 100 bands and these rock stars were on the billet. It goes on, and on. In a town like this normal folk can achieve rock star status for just about anything trite thing; such as running a successful tattoo parlor, winning a local D-Derby competition, or being a regular player at the local juke-joint taverns. I find this all to be very amusing. Especially when these characters start acting all effected, wearing sun glasses at night, accumulating a fan club, talking at you, and making appearances to further spread their local fame.
I ignore these local clowns, unless I happen to know them, and of course, I honor them by saying “what’s up Rock Star!”. (I use my most patronizing voice when I say this). I really cant stand the rock star attitude, even when its coming from actual rock stars. Be yourself please, don’t try to impress everyone.
When I used to live in the Bay Area, I happened upon a band who achieved fame in the pop punk circle. (I won’t mention the name, because I don’t want to name drop) Through a boyfriend I was living with at the time, I became “accepted” into the inner circle of this band. This meant full-fledged membership into their entourage, exclusive rock star parties, back stage passes, and rock-n-roll appearances at local shows. Now these guys were gutter punks that happened to strike it rich. It was funny to me that punk rockers could be rich at the same time, (and still try to be punk), but hey, who was I to judge. This elite membership in their group awarded me all sorts of privileges, and it was funny to me how people changed when they were around. The rock starts themselves were a strange group of guys, very affected by their fame and MONEY, but most affected by how other would treat them. Kinda like that Joe Walsh song “Life’s been good to me so far”. Everyone changes from fame, the ones who get famous, and mostly the people around them. For example, I would walk into a party by myself, and no one would say hi, or have anything to do with me. I show up at the same party, 15 minutes later with rock stars in tow, and all of a sudden, Im someone, everyone wants to say hi to me, and make some sort of stupid conversation. Like I was born yesterday, I knew what time it was. They all wanted to stand near me to try to get their conversation in with the rock star. This was totally annoying. The rock stars themselves were nice, if you got them one-on-one, but in a group they became this personality who would talk at the crowd and tell the same tired ass stories all over again. It got old, even more so when you have your friends and family bugging you for things like backstage passes, autographs, or personal photos.
Back to small town life, where real rock stars are few and far between, and local yokels will try to immortalize you in local fame “just for touching a real rock star”. Luckily too, this local fame fades, as its been at least six months since some idiot has reminded me that “I used to hang out with” the real rock stars. It just to be “hey this is vadergrrrl and she knows _______________”. Luckily more, my teenage son could care less about hanging with the real rock stars. Though he has been to their mansions and birthday parties with their offspring, he could care less. He isn’t a fan of poppy punk, or any punk rock, and knowing those rock stars is totally un-cool to him. When I mention to one of his friends that we know them, they say “who?” I find this amusing as in the 90’s they were the biggest thing since sliced Wonder bread. Yes, to this new gang of teenagers if your not P-Ditty or Nate Dawg, you aint cool sucka.
I think however, that the real rock stars are you, me, and anyone who has survived this bitch called life. Just because you were in the right place at the right time, or your daddy knew someone, or what not, this does not mean you are more talented or deserving than any of the rest of us. In fact the most talented individuals I have ever met, are broke ass poor struggling artists, like myself. All those lucky bastards who achieved fame and riches are just plain that… lucky bastards. I also think its time to spread the wealth, and let the real deal Hollyfield talents, such as you and I, get some of that cash. Yes a fantasy, but would be nice, and heck… One can dream….
Visit my Guestbook
"The mark of an immature man is that he would die knobly for a cause. The mark of a mature man is that he would live humbly for one" - Catcher in the Rye -WARNING WRITER SPELLING CHALLENGED! But Sometimes you have to say "what the fuck!"
Thursday, June 10, 2004
- ► 2008 (26)
- ► 2005 (28)
- ▼ 06/06 - 06/13 (4)