Last week, I saw an episode of VH-1 rockDocs called Do It for the Band: The Women of Sunset Strip. It was a look back at the LA-based hair metal explosion of the ’80s, focusing on the groupies and girlfriends of the bands. Rock veterans like Bret Michaels (Poison) and Steven Adler (Guns N’ Roses) freely admit that if not for the kindness of these women — who provided food, clothing, shelter and stimulation for musicians who otherwise couldn’t fend for themselves — almost none of the bands would have survived in LA long enough to ink a record deal.
Now, 20 years later — despite all the drugs, cheating, emotional and psychological breakdowns, diseases, leaking breast implants and a widespread infestation of crabs (yes, crabs) — they all still roundly agree that it was the best time of their lives.
Why? Because it was fun. And not just fun, but a non-stop, drug-fueled sex party — which, history has proven, is the best kind of party. Don’t believe me? Recall that the impressionists had the Moulin Rouge, the revolutionaries had the coffeehouses, Hemingway had Cuba and Hollywood had… well, Hollywood. Nearly every major political, sociological or artistic turning point of the past 500 years involves one or more of the following: narcotics, alcohol, sex, criminality and backstabbing. (Hell, even Isaac Newton was a bastard.)
So where is all of this in social media?
Not that I’m advocating sexism, drug addiction or the near-death experiences of Nikki Sixx. But you have to admit, social media lacks the fire, piss and passion of a truly world-changing, generation-defining movement. And we can call ourselves “rock stars” all we want, but lining up overnight for the new iPhone doesn’t carry quite the same street cred as smashing your guitar in front of half a million people.
Where’s the fire?
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Tags: America, history, music, perception, pop culture, Social Media, Sociology
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