So, I hope I have a teacher who has a good sense of humour, or a really lousy grasp of cultural psycology. Actually, Mr Simpson would be a good guy to mark my paper anyway.
But the crux of my 'argument' (if you can call it that, it was more of a random splattery ejaculation of incoherent thought) was that humanity will reject the baser forms of entertainment (crappy american movies, reality tv and... uh...) and seek higher enlightenment with better art, theatre and music. Basically, thinking about it, my reason for being hopeful about the future is that everyone's gonna watch foreign films.
This got me thinking. Well, to be honest, it didn't, but this makes a nice lead in to the rest of the post. Can't you see the effort that goes into this blog? It has introductary preambles to warm up the reader, a nicely linked narrative and a high level of professional journalism that includes proper spelling and grammar, and even the looking up of hard to spell words in the dictionery.
A ha ha.
Yeah. This got me thinking... I might get MORE marks if my essay is ACTUALLY accurate ie. if the cultural revolution actually occurs. Hell, my essay might make the news. 'Local boy forsees cultural revolution'. I might become rich off that essay. I might go on to a glittering carreer in writing, leaving you shit-wankers in my dust, reading the scraps from my brain that I'll burp into this blog every four weeks AND LIKING IT.
But... how was I to enact this cultural revolution? I can't just run down the street with a placard screaming "START A CULTURAL REVOLUTION, YOU FOOLS!" I mean, that's what Stephen Hawking tried, and look what happened to him. I would have to do something better and more musical than that. THEN IT HIT ME. I would have to form... A BAND. But not just any band, oh no. The most kickass, rawkin' and rawlin', jive hungry drug peddling stay up all night cigar smoking chairs into the swimming pool throwing alligator wrestling stadium selling-out Grange Hill murdering mofo badass afro owning spoon bending belly dancing backwaxing penis enlarging muscle tensing hot-diggedy-damn MANLY band in the entire history of MUSIC.
This would be the band to show you all the reason why you exist. This would be the band to shake up the entire FOUNDATIONS of society as we know it. This was the band whose music was so damn good, it purposefully goes out at night and murders the music of other musical groups JUST TO SHOW HOW GOOD IT IS. This is the band that killed Martin Luthor King with their pure awesomness. This is the band that brought Elvis back from the dead with complicated musical riffs JUST to show him that he was no longer the King of Music. This is the band that had every copy of every Mozart song burnt, then played his entire set off by heart on the bass double-riffter guitar. Oh yeah, this is the band that had brand new guitar designed for them by swiss elves, the only type of guitar that could withstand the pure amount of tasty groovitude pumped through its titanium-coated strings. This is the band that would launch a thousand ships.
Well, I had the plan. Now, how was I to put it into effect?
I considered my own musical skills. Well, with two and a half years of recorder and one and a half of clarinet safely tucked under my belt, I felt that I was pretty well prepared for my future stardom. So what if I quit the clarinet due to the fact that after several hundred pound's worth of lessons, I couldn't get a decent sound of it? With a clarinet, it doesn't count. After all, the clarinet is famed for being one of the coolest instruments around, only eclipsed by the piccolo and flute for manly manlyness. So, I had my type of band; we were to be a rock clarinet outfit. Man.
BUT THEN IT HIT ME. Who was there to be my co-bandmembers? I mean, it couldn't just be anyone. I considered inviting the Hampton Orchestra French Horn Section, but then realised that I needed some real musicians, playing some real instuments. Who? Who? I had several IMPORTANT guidelines for prospective bandmembers:
1: As this band is going to be the manliest thing since Oli G's pecs, my bandmembers have to all be men. No women in this band. As, to be honest, women are all crap at music. If anyone wants to name me ONE decent female rock band, please, PLEASE, come forward. And, no, Madonna does not fucking count.
2: They all have to be on the cutting edge of fashion. No sixties rejects, BONO. Not that I think that Bono is a sixties reject, I just don't like him. Stupid sunglasses wearing tit. I'll stick him a moment that he can't get out of. A moment OF PAIN. Man, that's a good cuss, I might note that one down for Live 8.
3:: They must all be adept at channeling massive amounts of cosmic music godliness through their puny human frames. No cripples.
4: Just to make this clear, no women. And no gays. I don't have any problem with gays, but, come on, this is a proper band, not Dale Winton's Flower Time Singalong.
5: They all have to be drop dead goshdarn ATTRACTIVE. Not that I'm shallow, but name me one rock band that had ugly people in it. Ok, there are lots, but they wore cool makeup.
THEN IT HIT ME. The group of men who had long been rocking HARD while we all lay in our encrusted Britney Spears enduced cocoons of catatonia and depression. The men who brought a whole new reason to the word: ROCK.
These men are large masses of rock moving forward in a circular motion.
And, at the same time, they are portable firearms combined with the red flower of the plant genus Rosa laevigata.
They are, indeed, a city in America that rhymes with Moston.
Their front man is the defensive mechanism of a bee or, indeed, a wasp.
They dress up in white makeup and have implanted cow's tongues in their mouth.
They are one.
They are many.
They are...
Spandau Ballet
Spandau Ballet: SECOND MANLIEST BAND AROUND (after, of course, this one).
Right, after I had the Spandau Ballet boys on board, we had the discussion as to what to name ourselves. Tony, Garry and John were quite keen on naming us "Tony Garry And John and some others," whereas Steve preferred "The Reservoir Dogs". However, nobody likes Steve so we told him to shut up and go and stand in the corner while we discussed it. We decided that, being the head of the band, I was the biggest so could fire/explode the rest of the gang, so what I said went. This power struggle turned out to be important when it came to the album cover. And so, after a lot of discussion, we came to two possibles: Handsome Thomas Plus Five, or The Sans Culottes.
If you don't know what a Sans Culotte is, go onto Google Image Search and type in 'fecal japan'. It won't help you much, but it's funny.
We (I) decided on The Sans Culottes, as a suitably revolutionary name. It also meant that we didn't have to wear socks. And so we were born.
Then we had to decide on our image. As you all know, I am well known for my dashing sense of fashion (my taste in fleeces and bizarre sunglasses is legendary... everyone copies me, you know).
Although the original plan was to be at the cutting edge of fashion, I had a revelation. When the Sans Culottes sparked off the cultural revolution, as we surely would, FASHION as it existed would be changed. Who knows, people may end up wearing grey Mickey Mouse Tshirts, stipey blue and white trousers, long witch cloaks and zippy bags. We couldn't go on the fashions of today. It would be fasionable suicide, like a McFly wristband, or being Steve. So I decided to look back, back to an tireless and timeless age of fashion, where everything was cool and everything went, a time of beautiful fabrics and suits of shell. A time that has been long overlooked by the retro stylists.
The Eighties.
Sure, for some reason, the 80s has got a reputation for being a bad time for fashion. PISH POSH I SAY. I mean, how can a decade that gave us jerry curls and purple shell suits be known as BAD for fashion? Papah. So, yes, we would have groovy eighties haircuts and a nice line in spandex to kit us up. After hiring a top stylist (me), we were kitted out and ready. Me and the Spandsters were ready. The Sans Culottes were ready.
Nearly.
I just made one TINY alteration to the original plan before we were released on the world. We needed to sex ourselves up a bit more, and the huge mustaches weren't having the desired effect. Well, to be honest, I didn't need any more sexing up, but the Spandausters did. So I booked them in for some operations. The boys didn't like the idea at first, but I pointed out that a minor piece of cosmetic surgery never hurt anyone and, anyway, they didn't have a choice either way. They were a touch upset when they first came-to and saw the widespead nature of the procedure (especially Steve, who hadn't been told, but we hate him anyway so it doesn't matter) but after a few weeks, they got used to their new look as my backup singers. Hell, some of them even like it. Steve doesn't, obviously, but does anyone care about him? Raise your hand if you care what Steve thinks. Anyone? No? Nobody? Thank you.
So, ladies and gentlemen, I present to you... THE SANS CULOTTES!
Our first song "Death to that Fucking Crazy Frog", will be released some time in the near future. You'd better nail your socks to your feet if you don't want them to be ROCKED OFF.
Oh yeah. I rule. That picture was totally worth the solid hour of not revising.
ALL THE SPELLING MISTAKES ARE INTENTIONAL
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