Tainted Love

06Aug08

So, you have a favourite band. They’ve been your favourite band for years and years and years: a little world of warmth you’ve carried around and kept in your pocket through good times and bad – especially bad – and everything in between. You know all the words to all the songs and you’ve lost track of the hours you’ve spent singing along in a slightly deranged tone. You put their posters up – on your wall, if you did that kind of thing – in your heart, if you didn’t. It’s pure fandom and you’ve had it for so long you don’t ever imagine anything can touch it.

They’ve always been your band – your little treasure. Sure, other people might nod approvingly as you tell them of your love for this band, and you might be able to get one of your friends to admit they’re ‘pretty good’ – after months of prodding and poking and annoying – but mostly they belong to you, and only you. And sometimes this gets you down. Why are you so alone in your band-love? Why does no-one else get it? Why is it that if you want someone to go to their concert with you you almost always have to shell out for their ticket too?

And then … you meet someone like you – well, not just like you: maybe not as obsessive, not quite as passionate. But they love your band too. And they know all the words to all the songs and they want to go to the concert and pay for their own tickets.

And you bond, with this person, over your love for this band, and they come out of your pocket and perform on the table for the both of you over a few drinks. And you bond over other things, feeling comfortable and having bonded over this band, and it’s all great and you no longer feel quite so alone.

But it doesn’t last.

Despite first impressions, this person actually turns out to be, well, a bit of an asshole. You fall out – or something. You don’t even know except that it’s left a faintly bitter taste in your mouth and you feel fourteen again and keep asking yourself what you did wrong. And then you get over it. Sometimes friendships just aren’t meant to be, right?

So you move on, and you put your favourite band back in your pocket.

Except.

Except it’s not the same. Suddenly they don’t sound nearly so good. It’s as though some of that bitter taste has rubbed off on them, and the whole thing is tainted, and before you know it you’re seriously considering taking the posters down from your wall, and when asked to name your favourite band, you stumble over their name, confused as to the strange uncertainty you feel about the whole thing.

And then you start skipping their songs on your iPod.

And then one day you’re doing a cull, and you seriously can’t think of a reason not to hit delete.

It’s over … and you don’t even know why except that now instead of being that little bit of warmth that sits in your pocket, they make you feel … foolish. And silly. And not in a good way.

So suddenly you understand music snobbery – they’re not mad because they’re not unique any more. They’re scared, because their favourite band is spilling out of their pocket and they don’t want it tainted by anything icky.

And really, you can’t blame them.

So good day to you, fans of The Lighting Seeds, and Spoon – the new band in my pocket. I admire your taste, but no – we can’t be friends.

Sorry.

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