One point of pride for me always was my emotional and developmental stasis, which allowed me to stay childlike/-ish and rarely deal with the heartbreak of 'growing out' of certain bands. Dudes always grouse to me like Oh I used to be into Megadeth but now I'm not. Like your car got broken into at the gig in Rockford and the villains made off with your good taste in Metal. I don't get it. To me, So Far, So Good ... So What? sounds better everyday. Not boastful; thankful. I truly would be unable to cope if this song ever ceased to blast my ballbag.
But my secret shame is this vexing, growing, and extremely honky love for blues-based hard fucking rock. Super-hard rock, like BulletBoys and Dangerous Toys and Badlands, all tapes I financed as a pre-teen by borrowing liberally from casually stowed purses. So I have changed after all. Damn. My already embarrassing fondness for these acts has expanded beyond reasonable limits, and even worse goddammit somehow major no-no's like Lynch Mob and Kix are cemented firmly in my rotation. That iPod play count doesn't lie. The other day I busted myself humming along to fucking Jackyl! Are you hearing this? The chainsaw guy???
And Dangerous Toys excepted, each of these bands to some extent undermines my firm anti-cracker blues stance with their wailing, contorted singers, all doing ahem 'the blues' about rough dames and bad drink. More than anything, they're ripping off Robert Plant. But that doesn't really make me feel any less uncomfortable. And the fact that I even relate at all to monster stomps like Lynch Mob's "She's Evil But She's Mine" (above) indicates that a) my life force has been sucked out by some reckless, indecisive tramp; and b) I'm only one step away from growing a ponytail in time for the next picnic table bluesfest out in the suburbs.