Lucas Flatt: “Bring on the grunge

I was kicking back, watching a movie the other night and I had a brilliant idea. Seriously. Brilliant.Have you seen Gus Van Zandt’s film “Last Days?” It’s about the final days of Kurt Cobain’s life. Except they change some stuff and his name is Blake. Or something like that. It starts with a “B.”

Totally killer movie, man.

It’s kind of slow, though, so that is why I was thinking. I do that, sometimes. It, like, gets pretty deep up there. Sometimes, I wonder what my life would be like if I could, you know, take all these crazy ideas I have and, like, do stuff. With them, I mean.

So, where was I? Oh, yeah! I was watching the movie (totally bitchin’, by the way, if I didn’t mention that), and I looked over and saw this killer flannel jacket hanging up on my wall.

I’ve been wearing it for a week or two now, because it’s totally cold out side. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is this amazing idea I had: now is the perfect time for a grunge revolution!

Whoa. I know, right?

Think about it.

In the last ten or fifteen years, have any rock bands knocked your socks off?

I mean.emo? Really?

Since when did dudes going to their sister’s hairstylists have any right to play rock n’ roll?

The eighties, I guess.

But what about all these dudes (and ladies.sorry, can’t forget the ladies) writing wussy poetry about feelings and emotions and putting them on the internet?

A real grunge rocker would spit a mouth full of warm beer all over the internet, if he could, you know, find it.

And all the references to wanna-be rock n roller’s cutting themselves in their lame, emo songs? Weak.

Wait, wait.I know. Kurt Cobain totally killed himself or whatever. Also weak. But plenty of grunge rockers didn’t take the easy way out. And they didn’t write wussy poems about morbid stuff and crybaby feelings either.

They wrote kick-ass songs about black holes on the sun and dudes who live in boxes.

So.wait, what was I talking about?

Oh, yeah.grunge revival!

So here’s what you need to do: buy some flannel and stop washing your hair. Dudes and ladies, doesn’t matter.

Then, buy a guitar. Don’t worry about tuning it. That’s lame.

You can’t write music without being inspired. Everybody knows that. So buy some Soundgarden CDs, and some Mudhoney, and some Alice in Chains, and any old Sub-Pop stuff before the label went all sweater-wearing indie rock crap.

Next, call your parents and tell them you hate them.

Get your friends together and start a band. Argue a lot over who plays what, and never actually practice. No, wait, practice once or twice and record it with a tape player so it sounds like your band set up and rocked out in a dumpster full of broken glass.

Book some shows and don’t show up. Then, break up, and never talk to your friends again.

Ten years later, you can try to sell tapes of your recording to your new friends until they get mad and ask you to leave their homes. Be sure to tell them “they don’t understand” when you leave. Throw in a “you shut up” before you slam the door.

I hope you are writing all this stuff down. Cause I’m not going to remember it. And my band is about to practice.if I can find my guitar. I might have sold it.

Seriously, though, folks, I’ve had a blast writing for you this semester. I’ll be back next semester.

I hope you learned something. I know I didn’t. What was I talking about?

See you next time.