Puce Naugahyde
All I Am Saying Is Give Twee A Chance
By Ross Elfline
The gauntlet is down. Emotions have recently reached a feverish level. Here we all are, members of an ostensibly united community, though divisive tactics leave us separated into camps, based on oftentimes shallow and superficial grounds. Long-standing affiliations, nay devotions to gods and leaders will not be sacrificed or compromised. Naturally I am speaking of the current situation here at SAIC. What does it mean to be "alternative," and does this term hold any currency today in a culture where our art school subculture gets co-opted into the mainstream with such ease and aplomb? We see punks competing for attention with neo-Goths. Indie rockers soon find themselves torn asunder into the subcategories of "twee,"* "lo-fi" or "alt-country." And the list goes on. In the midst of this fog of steadfastness, can we see a clearing? Can we find a way to heal ourselves and our community, as Oprah has been preaching daily for nearly two months now? Brothers and sisters, geeks and grrrls... the answer is yes.
Before we get too far ahead of ourselves though, we must take a step back. Look at what history might have to tell us of the dangers of division within a subcultural world. So let's all hop on our banana-seated bicycle (the one with the tassels on the handlebars) and take a jaunt back in time. To 1965 to be exact, in the British seaside town of Brighton. So, we all think that Vespas are pretty darn great, eh? Well, Puce thinks this anyway. Believe it or not (and I know we will all find this shocking), there were some who didn't feel this way. I know, tough to think that there would be some non-design-conscious infidels out there who might have found these paragons of mid-modernist style offensive, but in England the Vespa was at the very epicenter of social unrest in the mid-60s. The fascinating thing is that this gigantic rift was between opposing subcultural groups: the Mods versus the Rockers. Style mattered to these folks. Well, mostly to the Mods, to be honest. I mean, come on, an entire subgroup of society that was held together by what common signifiers? The neatly pressed trousers, a plain black necktie, proper leather shoes, and yes, the famed Italian scooter.
Well the Rockers didn't really take too kindly to their fey counterparts. What with the Rockers' black leather jackets, torn blue jeans, unkempt hair and Harleys, the visible differences were obvious. And that's the funny thing about the whole rivalry. It was enmity based solely on style and design.
And what's more, the opposing groups got into a tussle about this. More than a tussle, it was a grand old riot in the pleasant seaside town of Brighton. Loads of kids bloodied and bruised and over what? A silly old scooter. Both the Rockers and the Mods were separate from mainstream British society; both would be considered "alternative" by today's standards, and yet they came to fisticuffs. Just watch the 1979 film Quadrophenia to take a longer look. Blood on the beaches of Brighton.
And my fellow counterculture compatriots, this is what must end. Bickering over the minutiae of style. Let the Goths have their eyeliner (though really gals, MUST it be so very heavy? We get the point already!). Several years ago KMFDM was all the rage on "college radio." And does anyone remember what the band's moniker allegedly stood for? I know a few of you do. It was "Kill Mother Fucking Depeche Mode." Funny stuff, huh? Well let's look at this now. Both bands dressed almost entirely in black; they appealed to similar audiences; they had bad accents. Actually the only thing that separated them was sheer volume. It was all electronic buzzes and beeps, kids. One band just did it louder than the other.
So let's just let it all rest now. Put away the partisan rancor. Turn to that geek next to you in class with the thrift store clothes and the scruffy hair and take his nail-bitten hand and say, "I value you as a person. And although there's no way in hell I'll ever listen to Perry Farrell after he put away his guitar and went techno, I'm sure we can find something to agree on."
In a brilliant show of solidarity, I give as an example Beulah. An indie band with a heart of gold like no other, folks. Their most recent Chicago appearance on October 11 at the Abbey Pub had me reaching for my hanky. You see, these modern day rockers straddle both sides of the aisle in this Congress of the post-alternative music scene. Cheezy organs meet a churning bass line; trumpets mix with earnest shouts; flutes don't clash with the blazing guitar lines, they fuse together in a sound that can only be described as love. But more than just paying lip service to this notion, they back it up with honest onstage antics. The end of the show saw the appearance of an underage lass of maybe 17. She had been following the band as a groupie, flute case in hand, for about a month. At each venue she would ask to play with them. Now a fixture with Beulah, the truly geeky young Miss Thang serves as a beautiful foil to the hard-edged rock of the San Francisco noise-makers. But, it only gets better. As an encore, they hauled out a full baker's dozen of late teenaged geeksters to bounce up and down behind the band with tambourines, maracas and, yes, even the flute made an appearance. These kids were ugly, greasy-haired, awkward and having so much damned fun you just wanted to take them home and pinch their sallow, sunken cheeks.
I felt the best of humanity in that room on that October night. And I feel confident that, with a little patience and understanding, we will learn to peacefully coexist, my brothers and sisters of the cultural avant-garde.
*Twee: affectedly dainty or elegant; mimicking child's pron. of sweet.
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