Thursday, March 11, 2010
Those were the days, man . Not any more.
Kurt's up in 27 Heaven. There's an action figure and a converse sneaker with him on it.
Krist is a Politician. Get into his big , black car. Blame both sides.
James is making music with a Hanson.
Billy is a wacked out, New Age bible thumper who fired everyone who ever worked with him and ended up alone.
His ego never bruises, but his hand sure does from patting himself on the back.
Dave is sitting behind the drums in TCV where he belongs, not phoning in his shlock rock with the Foof Fighters.
Where did all of the rock stars go?
They went the way of the attention span,
trading places with- butterfaced dancers with glitter on their privates who move fast enough for the faces to not turn to stone.
so hard to take the focus away from their generictuned voices.
And the rock stars become the newest wax museum member.....
They're playing the superbowl drowning in pomp and wearing hearing aids to the party.
They're crossing over to corporate country when the voice and the pussy dries up.
They're opening casinos and country fairs with drummer #6 and bass player #4.
They're finding god, writing memoirs, dying hair and dying there.
Show me one legit rockstar who is under 30, tears through the lifestyle hard enough to live to tell about it, and takes a year to write an album, doesn't have a fashion line, or charity event or a fucking ringtone.
Show me someone whose lyrics you're going to write on your 8th grade English Folder, goes through "it girls" like they were post it notes on his penis, then gets that thing plastercast as he's launching a flat screen out of his hotel window with one hand while sharpie-ing his name on the double D of some Midwestern runaway turned boozed groupie.
Wake me when its time to rock again.
I'm headed to Texas in search of something.