Here Come Cowboys

Me and my pal Violet went to see the Psychedelic Furs last night. And what else can I say but it was Captain Awesome. We were right up front, kissing distance from the legendary band, and they sounded great!

The assembled fans, on the other hand, were a hideous nightmare of wattles and male pattern baldness, and lousy haircuts. People just don’t take a cue from their idols anymore. They are content to shuffle about, mouth-breathing and unkempt, watching Richard Butler slink around in slim trousers. You can’t help it if you are old and decrepit. But you can help looking it. Surely there is something better than an old man sweater lurking in your closet. I consider it an affront to show up to a rock show looking like a substitute teacher, and a poor way of paying tribute to a band that you love.

Where, oh where have all the Beautiful People gone? These halls always used to be filled with such sullen and pretty faces. Tonight I am going to stay in with Jarvis Cocker and Kitty Dukakis.

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