before boring patriarchy derailed my life

The year was 2002.

Dance mu­sic was be­com­ing colour­less be­cause the youth mar­ket­ing de­part­ment had caught on to the rave trend and was reck­less­ly dri­ving it into the ground for profit. 

Mean­while, rock mu­sic was veer­ing into emo guy with a gui­tar shoegaze non­sense­land – a com­bi­na­tion of the post-Nir­vana se­ri­ous­ness that killed fun rock n’ roll and the angst of the ⁹⁄₁₁ pe­ri­od. Hip hop was al­right but it was in that heady pe­ri­od where it just kind of sound­ed like spo­ken word set to a jazz trio. 

Need­less to say, I was bored, mu­sic had stopped be­ing fun, and I was stuck lis­ten­ing to clas­sic jams and New York Elec­tro tracks from one off artists in hopes of feel­ing something – 

bu­u­u­u­ut THEN
like a comet blaz­ing through the drea­ry night sky or some such anal­o­gy came Bob­by Conn, with or­ange lips and fuschia se­quin jump­suit, a non-iron­ic throw­back to the mag­ic of the glam era, with an in­tense stage pres­ence and a full em­brace of the rough edges of sub­cul­ture while still cel­e­brat­ing our col­lec­tive artis­tic spir­it, and it was fuck­ing good. So fuck­ing good. 

To­day when I went to re­vis­it his al­bum, I saw he only has, like, 10,000 plays on Spo­ti­fy – what the shit is that? 

We all need to lis­ten to more Bob­by Conn. Let’s start here:

—na­tal­ie michelle

Flom­mist Na­tal­ie Michelle does­n’t have a bio. She just rants. Copy­right © 2016 Na­tal­ie Michelle.

MOR D’ARTÍCULOS  MOR FLOMM !

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