Mirage

 

 

How do you create a successful band? It’s a recipe that many still fail to grasp whether in basements, garages, or gazebos. Even if there’s evidence laying all around us, under dusty amps and cord clumps. It’s true you need good songs, but you don’t need original songs. Let me amend that, you need songs that appear to be original but like tailgating an ambulance, merely drafting off their past success. The audience feels like a tune is eerily familiar it’s usually because it is eerily familiar. 

 

And you don’t need good poetry. That’s the thing about poetry. Put any decent rhyme to catchy music and your job is done. Just two blokes in a band that was once massively successful, who’ve sailed on the coattails of ancient work for decades. You see, being a great artist isn’t always about producing great work. It’s about criticizing other artists, furrowing your brow during interviews and maintaining a hostile view towards pretty much everything. Ornery over irony, since few know the difference. Convincing the public you’re talented requires adopting a persona that feigns interest in all things. Stay mysterious. 

 

Do this and you’ll be fine. When fans squint through their trendy sunglasses, you appear like a good band. A great band. Only the view is amid the desolation of a harsh desert. There’s no water, only sand. No animals, only camels. They’re desperate to attach themselves to something meaningful. Like an oasis they embrace the annoying melodies and maudlin lyrics against their better judgment and without the assistance of drugs.

 

It’s not the nineties anymore. They're older. They know the difference between water and sand. Because this? This isn't a comeback. This isn't a reunion.

This is a mirage.