By Evangeline Jennings
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child. Which, of course, I am. But all the same.
Born in the UK, I live in Texas now and although I consider I have bent the entire United States to my iron will – see, for example, NBC’s superior coverage of Proper Football – the fact remains that all/both my US friends and I lack a shared cultural frame of reference. Obviously, I know about Hollywood, Dealey Plaza, and that Rick Perry is a smarmy Nazi twat of the first water, but they still know nothing about Proper Football and my taste in music leaves the poor loves all befuddled. To coin – or steal – a paraphrase, they’re all kinda hip hop, but I grew up on punk rock. And sometimes it hurts.
Teeny tiny example.
I discovered this clip of the best Welsh band evah, Helen Love, playing in a train shed last summer and wanted to share it with someone, only to realize that absolutely no one I know here would have even the slightest interest in it. Nonetheless, I persisted. Experimented, I guess.
Me – Hey, dude, watch this clip with me. It’s ace. Back at the end of the last century, I went to That London to see this band play and we all slept at Waterloo Station afterwards. It was fucking freezing. Swear to God, the introduction to this song is longer than the entire set I saw them play. But look, isn’t this great?
Them (expletives and insults deleted)
– *Raised eyebrows*
– You call that music?
– Why are all those tragic losers on the stage?
– That’s the singer?
– You went to London and slept out for that? You’re fucking crazy
Crazy like a vixen.
We can reinvent ourselves. but we can’t rewire our heads. All we can do is have fun with the differences.