Grunge rock music preferred a raw, driving, relentless bass guitar overwhelming and upstaging the hero theatrics of lead guitar as prettified in glam and psychedelic rock. In the late 20th century youth seemed to want to rebel against their parents’ staid generation: the bodgies of the ‘50s excited by Elvis swiveling his hips to jailhouse rock, the hippies of the ‘60s and punks of the ‘70s with their anti-establishment rock, and grunge rockers were the ‘80s rebels. Grunge carried on the DIY ethic of the punks, do it yourself, handmade, garage bands able to practice their music by living on the dole and in squats. They were anti-elitist, their clothes and style scungy, trashy, with beatnic goatees, long hair and ragged clothes from opportunity shops.
I was a neglected child and it was only at five years old I was shown by the girl next door how to draw stick figures and to me it was like a magic trick and I compulsively drew from my imagination ad nausea from then on, and the only thing I ever really wanted to be was an artist. Coming from the lumpen proletariat this endeavor/profession was one I was told could never be open to me, only goodie-two shoes middle-class brats need apply. But I persisted in drawing/painting secretly, much to the anger of my factory-slave dad who punched me out for sissy artiness and the ire of my authoritarian arts teacher at high school who threw me out of many classes for my cheekiness.
For me Life is an ongoing university degree and I’ve now got 7 PHDs, in survival, art, story-telling, surfing pop-culture, sojourning the multiverse, making love not war and Oms not bombs. I’m happy with the turn in the road my disasters and triumphs have taken me on. I now write endless short stories, published freely on the WEB, novels within novels in a Proustian-like attempt at remembrance of things past and future. And I paint large canvases, like taking flight through a magic window into a wondrous Underworld, with no one leaning over me telling me what to paint. I’m FREE for I don’t run around with a brief-case full of proposals and a mobile phone glued to my ear trying to swing a deal. I travel the world and create my art at will, relaxed, ecstatic, there’s no Golden Statuette or magazine cover to bust a gut for, just adventure in the lands of the Arabian Nights, all my childhood dreams come true.