Everything Must Go (inc Indie Rock & Youth)

Yes, EVERYTHING MUST GO! 
Books, magazines, LPs, mobile devices that aren't iPhones, concentrated spells of reading that last longer than five minutes - the lot! This blog, even, one day (I know, read that and weep). So now the writer contemplates the idea that it will be his lasting legacy...


Do abandoned blogs ever disappear? I read that they remain...like digital tombstones...in which case, what will people think of this should they chance upon it in 100 years' time? By then there will be blog archaeologists claiming to have unearthed lost treasures, no doubt. Perhaps there will be a blog museum, an online facility holding blogs by decade. This may already exist, but I'm resisting the temptation to look right now.


When I say 'everything must go' I'm thinking about many things, along with those which will endure, such as mountains, oceans and Cliff Richard. Depending on what you think will happen first, the sun going out (in a few billions years), or a meteorite crashing into us (I'm hoping it heads our way soon so that Harry Stamper can come to the rescue, thus greatly reducing the chances of another in my lifetime). 


'Indie Rock' is supposedly dying a slow, painful death . Well, I long-since buried that under the, er, metaphorical tree in my back garden. Yet as in monster B-movies, the beast will not die! Do fans of this stuff not yet realise that adulation of these Rock Stars, and the playing of their music, is akin to being a member of the Morris Dancing Appreciation Society, which in their misguided pseudo-coolness would be so laughable? No, dear reader, they do not, for they are cursed with the belief that Indie is forever...what? Hip? Cool? Such is the way of those whose (already antiquated) rebel music slips into the mainstream as readily as one of Roger Daltrey's trouts  - and looking at those lakes, I'd like to visit. Haven't you cottoned on to the fact that rambling is the new rock 'n' roll, yet?  


Watching BBC4's doc about the Quadrophinia the other night I was reminded of how time also goes when footage of The Who's Charlton FC gig came on - I was there - my god, yes. 'Perhaps we'll see you!' cried LJ, naively. I should have replied 'Yes, but will it be the real me?', but didn't think of it at the time. After all, ourselves decades ago do not seem real, do they? I was another person then and, yes, youth must go too.