Ultimately, punk rock was a disease of the soul, a doctrine of projecting and amplifying feelings of insecurity and fear outward and inward until the whole world seemed like an ice cave. It wasn't necessary to judge every new piece of art against unwinnable criteria, or ourselves against imaginary standards of altruistic correctness. It wasn't preordained that fun, lighthearted inspiration was shallow or contemptible; nor was it true that everything sucked, that life sucked, or that the world sucked. Successful art isn't always garbage, and lazy, shitty art isn't always teaching us something. Why celebrate whiny millionaires and indie-snob Robespierres?
I watch kids today make music and art that's smart and clever, with no hard lessons or Marxist undertones attached, and think: Can we finally admit to ourselves that punk rock was always bullshit, that it gave us nothing but heartache? Can we let it go?
Shut it down. Kill the lights. It sucked. It sucked, but now it can be over.
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last.fm
"I hope that someday we will be able to put away our fears and prejudices and just laugh at people." - Jack Handey.
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