You Look Like A Dick

On a recent trip to the continent I was described by one promoter as ‘cool’, not that it’s a problem, but a little flag popped up and kinda got me thinking, on account of the fact that I mostly look like a 65 year old man in the wardrobe of a 19 year old twat. So, it dawned on me that it’s been a long time since any concerns of being, looking, sounding or smelling (?) ‘cool’ have been anywhere near my to-do list.

  As much as self-deprecation is a comic buffer to the ego, ‘cool’ is the symbiotic parasite to creativity, one can’t seem to operate without the other. A mountain of Art School applications and cheap Strats lie on the path to that unobtainable, untouchable edifice of the ‘id’. Not to say that nothing good ever came of taking a trip along that particular primrose path. Tonnes of great art and music has been spewed from cool’s daft gaping maw, but it’s claimed more casualties than victors. Brandishing their tools – be it ‘the six-string phallus’, paintbrush or pen, they hose their audiences down with hot arcs of liquid creative riffage and attitude, in the vain hope that some of it will stick enough get them beyond the velvet rope and into the knickers/underpants/consciousness’ of the masses.

  Of course it’s all completely subjective as one cats’ cool is another dudes’ fool but there are unspoken rules, the first is a bit like Fight Club and not to talk about it, unlike the Coolbrands website which is all they do (top of the list? – Aston Martin. Urgh).  Second is to ‘Not Give A Fuck’ or at least look like you don’t, but beware you don’t protest to N.G.A.F too much or the audience will ultimately N.G.A.F and your efforts will fall on deaf ears.

  Other tools to consider along the way are sunglasses - disarming accessories that detach you from the punters enough so they can’t see that you’re actually bricking it or just have wonky eyes. Cigarettes always seems to do the trick if you can handle the Emphysema, repeat prescriptions of Ventolin and short life span of course...which neatly bring us onto death. Oh Death!, you don’t have to N.G.A.F as legions of historians and journo’s will do it all for you and the grander the exit the better. Car crashes rate fairly well, but overdoses and especially suicide, adds gravity. You could even end up a legend. Imagine that!

   I like to think that stuff’s ‘good’ rather than ’cool’, art that succeeds in its attack will always flaw vanity and preening, but if there’s a few good songs along the way, I couldn’t G.A.F.

P.S. ...in a note to the Editor, if my column is to ‘straddle’ a feature, could you pop the photo of me at the top of each page so that I will be engaged in an endless kiss with myself. Now that would be cool.