A Boring old Fart still Rockin’
I was in my second year of teaching. A bunch of year 11 kids came to see me to ask if I would sit in with them at lunch-time so they could play some music. I was intrigued. I had become a little estranged from the Rock Scene over the course of the last few years. After the collapse of the sixties the energy and idealism had dropped out of it. I’d kept up with my Floyd and Harper but was largely disillusioned. I thought it would be interesting to hear what the young kids were listening too.
I was surprised. They were bringing in albums by the Doors and Velvet Underground.
‘Where’s your stuff?’ I asked.
‘There’s nothing much happening,’ they informed me.
So I started taking in my albums and playing them some Roy Harper and Captain Beefheart which they enjoyed. I began explaining to them why the music was so important, a bit about the bands, the times and the philosophy. They lapped it up.
Then in late 1976 there was a knock on my door one evening. I opened it to find a group of my Rock Club kids there all looking frisky.
‘Right you boring old fart,’ one of them chimed up,’ ‘we’ve come to play you some real music.’
I waved them in and they began to unpack their albums. Liz got some drinks together while I was regaled with the Clash, Stranglers, Sex Pistols, Damned, and Ramones.
Overnight the hair had been cut and spiked, the flares discarded, shoes painted silver, and jeans and shirts ripped and held together with safety pins. My rebels had transformed into Punks. Everything was ‘Boring’. It was a new philosophy.
They had their own music, their own rebellion and their own style.
I was an honorary Punk.