But I Still Love the Old World...

by Nanne Tepper

Almost dead in August

There is this strange moment on the European continent, the last weeks of July, the first week of August, when the whole world all of sudden dies on you, and you remember you ought to know this cause it happens every fucking year, but you forgot, cause you were still living off the spunk of a couple of great shows and the records you bought the last six months, but now here’s this massive silence – make way for the freakments of nature! – cause all the venues you love are closed down and you ran out of records to play, and of course you haven’t been eating for weeks 'cause the choice between the devils jizz and food is the only easy choice you will have these weeks (and let me just say that these kinda rock n roll romantics are highly overrated) and while God is putting on his golfjacket to torture Europe in his own faggoty little style (flush away a village here; pull a heatwave over a city 20 miles further and kill a shitload of pensioners – allright, it IS fun to watch) you are stupid enough to hope for the best this time: that you’ll make it through the r n r summer so to speak, but of course first your car breaks down, then your wife tells ya she’s gonna leave you and all that miserable shit, and just when you thought you’ve had all the crap you can handle you blow up your speakers, really, every goddamn year it’s the same, so you’re fucked all over, and even the cities offer no comfort cause you don’t wanna take a walk when Europe is crowded with fucking dance-hippin-backpackers on skeelers and skateboards (fuck you Americans, for the most stupid invention right after the hoola hoop, you fucking loosers! I mean, a skateboard – my fucking god) (o and let me tell you this: when taking a drivers license test in Holland they won’t flunk ya if you kill a skate/skeeling beatnik along the way – o, no, you even get extra points if you drive so hard over ‘m their guts pop out) so you end up so depressed and cynical you pull out the most nihilistic records you got – cause you don’t wanna get Emo on your own ass, oh no, best leave The Adventures of the Guts in the songs and never ever talk about them; cause when you LISTEN you are a cool motherfucker with enough aliases to grow virtual muscles on messageboards and yell out on them ‘I’ve been kickin it to this shit’, yes sir, and so you WILL not cry if you run into a Greg Cartwright song by accident in your friends room and the thing hits you in the stomach, oh no, you’ll be lifting your very cool sunglasses and say in a raw chitlins eating way: ‘Yeah man, this rocks, man CAN write a song dude’ - and you make sure you get the fuck out of there and you wonder again: is it still save to say that rock n roll has saved your ass as many times as it ruined your life, or are we supposed to just shut up about it – we’ll have to ask the Rawking Brain Police of the Memphis Old Timers Posse about that one, but while we’re waiting for a manifesto on this matter I’d like to be honest about this shit and tell those of you who are still able to ‘get all shook up’ by a good love song in rock n roll - or a good song about having your soul buttfucked by the devil, or a good song about stopping this never ending ‘loosers culture’ in garage - that to me getting emotional over a song was the deal with rock n roll, and still is the deal with rock n roll... so stop being so mathematic about it, so mature, so journalistic, like it’s just an endless Loony Tune you still watch because you grew up with it, and only when you’re totally wasted you go on record (on board) to say which songs are really eating away your guts and wich ones really make you wanna rule the world again, but the next morning you are so ashamed that you start talking ‘rare old records’ again like nothing ever happened, cause you’re still not able to deal with the fact that being a Cool Garage Looser is becoming a very disgusting fashion statement, if y’all don’t mind me saying so, and the reason I say all of this is just because if I hadn’t seen Reigning Sound play a couple of shows before Europe died on me, I would have died first, so stick that where it hurts, you fake ass toughies, and fuck off!

Yeah, of course that latest Reigning Sound record drove my wife so fucking nuts that she left me and it also blew up my speakers – but that’s another fucking story.

Nanne Tepper
Nieuwstraat 54
9724 KN Groningen
The Netherlands
email: n.tepper@hccnet.nl