Ballad of a Band-Aid
Words by Brittany Norvell
Knoxville, TN – There are those of us in the rock world that get off on phrases like Fender Stratocaster, Gibson Les Paul, and 1964 Fender deluxe reverb. As slaves to music culture who are we to deny these intimate emotions? The word groupie comes to mind when thinking about this type of idol worship, alas it’s inappropriate, degrading even, to describe us in such a light for this particular story.
“We are not Groupies. Groupies sleep with rockstars because they want to be near someone famous. We are here because of the music, we inspire the music. We are Band Aids.”
-Penny Lane, Almost Famous
Since the early days of rock n roll fans were fainting over Elvis and fighting to the point of bodily harm to catch a glimpse of The Ramones. Through the years the likes of boy bands and rock gods grew, and what’s now flourishing is our own brand of musician worship. One where YouTube creates legends and Social Media can propel a once unknown into overnight superstardom. However, it is good to pause for a moment and remember that even without these technological advances, the moment we laid down the needle on a new LP or pressed play on the tape deck of our dashboards, for all intents and purposes, we fell in love. For all of you who understand, this is my message for you:
Dear friends and fellow stalkers (male or female). We’ve all had at least one musician in our lives that’s touched us (metaphorically or otherwise) and inspired us to throw bras on stage, weep hysterically, break things…usually in that order. Mine began years ago with the lead singer of Incubus, Brandon Boyd. Who, if you’re out there and reading this, I’m single. Call me!
It’s easy to lament over an electric hero after a night of heavy drinking. We find things about them that become irresistible to us: dark hair, haunting qualities, and the the ability to make your heart beat faster and slower at the same time each time they play their instrument (swoon!) But most of the time, it all begins with the music. After all, it IS all about the music, right?
In this glorious profession I’ve gotten the opportunity to experience this rush of fiery lust first hand – up close and personal. It all began with a cover band. This time last year I’d been put in the most fateful of positions to be able to see a remarkable musician on numerous occasions. I’ve grown accustomed to his amazing guitarist riffs as they come screaming out of the amp from his fire-blaze custom Surh.
Incredible, yes. I feel it wrong to put him on blast in a nationally publicized magazine however (since he does sometimes have a girlfriend) whether he deserves it or not. And he does. Trust. Welcome to my world of rock-centric white girl problems.
In the end I feel it’s important to give this advice, as if taken straight from the pages of Cameron Crowe’s life story. I’m a firm believer in not taking life seriously. As the famous Jim Morrison once said, “You’ll never get out alive.” And never take it seriously I shall. Cuz, “If ya never take it seriously, ya never get hurt, ya never get hurt, ya always have fun, and if you ever get lonely, just go to the record store and visit your friends.” Preach it Penny, preach.
Thankfully, our generation doesn’t have to go all the way to the record store (though you absolutely should). Simply find your nearest hot spot and jump on iTunes. Unfortunately if your musician crush happens to be on your iPod, DON’T remain a stalker-y psycho and listen to them till the pieces of your heart could be used as guitar picks. For God’s sake, delete the bastard!
Lastly, NEVER under ANY circumstances, have awkward over-the-clothes heavy petting, uh hum.. etc. session in the front seat of a red Ford Explorer in the parking lot of a local pub after a show. If it’s already too late for you, fear not friends, I do not judge.
TheWaster.com | Lust