Rockhunter, Issue 20, October 2005
“I propagate British cultural depravity”—Mr Pendlebury, The Lavender Hill Mob
Hey there, buddy? What is all this?
Everyone wants to know what I’m up to. Sure, I get praise heaped on me, but I also get the questions. Always with the questions! Ever since the ‘Hunter’s voluntary, unpaid, excellent and talented Webstress set up your No.1 Site for Rare Rock ‘n’ Roll (Which I ruined, failed to maintain and finally couldn’t afford to keep — Ethical Business Development Ed.), I’ve been bombarded with e-mails, some of which have even not offered me out!!
My finest achievement was getting linked to from Ugly Things, the granpappy of modern archive-rockin’!! Any poor souls will now get a 404 for they efforts!!! Must mail to apologise sometime.
In other news, I’ve been asked to lecture at the ICA!!! Yes, my fine fellows!!!! I got the e-mail summons just t’other day. “Come and tell us about your toons”, they said. Yeah, yeah. Just another unconfirmed guest, I guess. I’ll let you know how I get on…
One kind soul has been kind enough to call me the Thomas Carlyle of Rock! Like… whom?!?! And another’s likened me to William Hazlitt!! (Personally, I’ve no time for that ghastly mess of unidentifiable animal parts and secret spices — Deli Ed.) Frankly, I’m holding out for likenings to people with a bit more “Go” to ‘em, if you know what I mean! People saying I’m writing like Kanye West chats. I’ve been waiting, but ya’ll ain’t doing me that way.
Be that as it may, I’m still doing it my way Thanx to no funkin’ body but me! I’ve been doing you like this for a whole lotta long time — and I still ain’t even gotta licence!!!
Whatever. The majority of people are simply asking me what the hell I think I’m doing!! Well, gather round and I’ll tell the tell and say the say of the story of what it is, this here.
For those of you who don’t get it — you poor souls whose sore lack o’ Hep means ya don’t know The Unwritten Rule — Rockhunter is many things. It’s A Canticle for Liebowitz of rock ‘n’ roll. It’s The Forgotten in search of The Unknowns. It’s the global newspaper of my state of mind. Gibber. It’s the local music paper of yesteryear, replaying the The Past to those who are doomed to repeat it. It’s bait for eedjit wannabe celebrockers ceaselessly repeating tedious quasi-experiential factoids. We’re audacious and facaetious, just like Spurs. Fuggedabowdit!
This ain’t retro re-enactment any more, people, we’re in a new era of real, not ersatz; living-being, not homage. Ring the Alarm! As the sounds die, we’re gathering up the slack. We’re reconstructing the f-f-forgotten obvious!!!
In military terms, detachments, and independent companies for that matter, are spin-off options to deal with specific ad hoc problems that can’t be dealt with by ordinary means. We’re talking proaction, close targeting and collusion. My detachment is similar, albeit a personal response to things in general.
Where was I? Oh yeah, it’s the plain-speaking magazine for the plain people of Brighton ‘n’ Hove, this young Metromonolith. (Actually, since we’ve gone International with Rupert Murdoch’s MySpace, I guess it’s for everyone now, dammit — Globality Ed.)
It’s for people who live lifestyles that are worthless, worn, shallow and repetitive in their ceaselessness, as they grasp for the declassé elements that will subsume them within a wider mass of more valuable experiences, othering their own moribund aspirationalism. It’s like a car for your hands. Or somesuch idiot new-language marketing phrase.
Right, enough of what they sneeringly describe as ‘Vision’ — revolutionary capital’s least agreeable attempt at the anulment of dreams — and on with the Motley. And that’s “Hall”, rather than “Crüe”, olden TV comedy fans. Are you with me?
Let’s get ‘em, you fellows!!!!
Ed.
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