As in Fatty Boom Boom (pictured left) and Fatty Boom Boom (pictured everywhere else).
Today we rant about taste. As in "That was in bad taste...", "She has atrocious taste in men..." or "Drink your pineapple juice..."
I don't even know where to start! Typical. I come up with a topic and convince myself I have a myriad opinions on the matter only to experience suffocating writer's block the minute I hit "New Post".
Oh yes! Now I remember! In the wake of the Roxette gig last night, people's perennially abysmal tastes have once again found themselves under the glaring spotlight. And by abysmal taste, I merely mean anything contrary to mine. Let's inspect the 3 types of people that go to a Roxette show 20 or 30 years after they were at their peak.
1. The type that'll go to anything lest they miss out, even when most of the dross we're served up in South Africa is either revival bands coming here to die, or dead bands coming here hoping to revive flagging careers. Personally it all smells a bit of cashing in on a territory desperate for decent entertainment. On that note, drag your ill-informed asses out to go and watch local bands more often. And no, the fucking Parlotones do not qualify as a band. They're merely a collection of jingle writers.
2. The nostalgia concert attender. These are the least offensive of the lot, but should at least try and disguise themselves entering and leaving the venue. And no, you shouldn't try to fit into the jeans packed away in your cupboard from "when they were still hot" or try and find the ugly threadbare neon band-tshirt either.
3. The die hard fans. In most cases I have no problem with loyalty to a group, but with Roxette, your tastes should definitely be questioned. And then you should be publicly ridiculed like in the old days when stocks and rotten fruit projectiles were so popular.
That covers one application of the word.
"She has awful taste in men..." is a discussion for another time altogether.
The last is self explanatory and I will not be tempted by its base vulgarity. This is a family programme, you know!
Now what's next? Ah. Fucking Cold(sore)play. Go ahead. Prove my point for me!
Spread The Love. And The Earplugs.