When the going gets tough, the tough decide to join a band, according to erm.... many tough people?? Anyway, let me introduce this post - an ode to all things 'band-y'. Recently, the only form of escapism I had was coming downstairs to watch Pointless during a gruelling week of revising for subjects I intensely dislike and have no intention of taking any further after a grim period of compulsory education ("Geography" *cough*). In the middle of a rather dreadful history exam, during a particularly difficult question, the thought of "I should just join a band, I know quite a lot about them" seemed very appealing to a frantically-scribbling-with-hair-scraped-back Paige.
Ultimately, you can't just "join a band" instantly, unless you go on a soul crushing talent show where you're deemed "not skilled enough" to sing on your own and then virtually forced by the so-called powers that be to join forces with three other less-skilled people and take over the world with branded duvets, calendars and dubious lipglosses made of what can only be described as some form of snake venom. However, I do know quite a few more-than-talented people with really nice hair (the only requirement of a superstar according to moi). Therefore, with my mediocre piano skills ("I can become Ben Goldwasser synth extraordinaire in next to no time, trust me") and I know a few people who can actually play guitar and all the necessary instruments. Does it seem simple? Not really. A band is a lot more than a few pretty faces doing the odd wig-out. To the anonymous passer-by, they're simply a commodity, which is why a less well known band is often seen as a nuisance by the chart-music buying public *sad face*
It is probable that the life of a band is romanticised heavily; all the you see is photos of them having the time of their life in music magazines and them at gigs, where they show a 50 minute snippet of their time together. There are only rumours of band bust-ups and the odd bit of tension (which are most likely going to be either far less or far more extreme than the events reported), which means the life of a rockstar to the unseeing eye looks like a right laugh. There's only the small problem of touring for years until you're noticed by a shitty blog like the one I'm writing on, creating good enough music for a boring record label to say "aye yer alright we'll give you a three year deal, slave."
Despite my worries about the proposed rockstar life, it still seems very dramatic to me, which is what I like best in small yet regular amounts. So while I was sitting in this frankly absurd history exam, I just thought how appealing it would be to put my Ray Ban wayfarer sunnies on ("Where did the sunglasses come from?" HINT: The examiner gave them to me instead of a new pen) then slink out of the hall like a cool French person who knows stuff about interesting stuff, not boring school stuff (lol #education). However, I didn't do this as I finally worked out how to answer the question. Maybe my career as a rockstar will begin at a later date....
Lots of love, Paige x x x
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