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Fucking right - the last thing We want is silly anything. Not here. Not on a Tuesday afternoon. In my experience it's a heck of a difficult to come up with a universally acceptable criteria of cool, because different people are looking for different things. Do we judge simply on musical/cultural achievement and longevity? Not necessarily, since that would mean Mick Jagger would be in with as much of a shout as Tom Waites and that wouldn't do at all. Or are the people we like cool because no one else has ever heard of them? Of course not - next to no one has any idea about, say, Wildman Fischer but that doesn't make him any less of a useless cunt. Or is it just a matter of making a hilarious ironic suggestion because, like, that would be a bit, you know, kooky (eg The little banjo guy in Deliverance, Bleeding Gums Murphy.) No, quite frankly. For myself, coolness level goes up in direct proportion to how much smile time they've given me over the years - and the coolest I can think of include:
George Clinton. The living embodyment of The Funk in all it's many life affirming forms. Steamrolling over musical boundaries from the very beginning; just as political as Marvin, Stevie or James but more fun than all three put together; 160 years old and still dressing one of his five guitarists in a nappy. Can neither play nor sing a note.
Sandy Pearlman. Maybe most famous as the producer of the Clash's Give em Enough Rope, but fuck that - Sandy rocks because of his role as the Phantom of the Paradise-esque song-writing grey eminence in the Blue Oyster Cult. No Sandy, no sickly graveyard boogie and no black as night occult-inflected lyrics. No sickly graveyard boogie, or black as night occult inflected lyrics, no decent metal for the rest of time.
Great musicians - many of whom are called John - that are quite happy to remain out of the spotlight and smile quietly to themselves as their band mates get all the props. These would include John Entwhistle, Johnny Johnson, John Paul Jones, Wendy and Lisa, anyone that ever played with James Brown, and that bloke that did the guitar solo on Hound Dog.
Neil Young. Never really had much time for old Neil until a mate of mine lent me his autobiography. Now I realise that he's a god - a grumpy, arrogant, audience hating, dark heart of the 60s embodying, wife ignoring, great music producing, whiny voiced god. In a power cut.
Brian Wilson. Up to his neck in acid, shit all over by his band mates/family Brian escapes into his own head, buys a sandpit and comes up with Smile - the greatest, grandest use of melody in the history of popular music. Thirty years later he finally tours again, embodying the idiot genius - and truly truly believing that love will save us all. |
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