Friday, 10 August 2007
Fortysomething men and Morrissey
For some fortysomething men, still the missing link between Oscar Wilde and God. In the eighties the lyrics of The Smiths gave their sensitive younger selves the courage to do something about their solipsism, finally leave their bedrooms and attend Smiths concerts. Still an adulatory, near-hysterical following of those for whom adulthood never really happened – which is a little worrying to say the least and may give a new meaning to the concept of emotional immaturity.
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2 comments:
Heaven knows we're all miserable now....but it doesn't suit us. Not now that we're forty-somethings and relatively comfortably off.
I, too, was a massive Smiths fan. . . but you can't be taken seriously singing that you want to be knocked over by a ten ton truck when you're driving around in a lovely car you never dreamed you'd be able to afford way back when you were a spotty teenager. That may sound glib, but it's true. It's the same for all those punk rockers who now make a living as highly paid accountants or solicitors. They might still secretly love the music, but you won't catch them pogo-ing... or spitting at people!
Incidentally, I'm new to this blogging lark but have just started a blog about midlife issues. Check it out if you get a chance. . . and feel free to post a comment. You'll find me at www.sundaysun.co.uk/howay-five-0
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