“Right,” I said, as we realized how ridiculous “macho” sounded applied to us. We were talking to each other via the hands-free Bluetooth technology in our cars, as we made our drives home from work. Andyr was probably using his free hand to scratch his head, as I was doing, to find le mot juste. “We’re boys!”
“Maybe you could say we’re as macho as a teenage boy is capable of being.”
That seemed to fit what we were getting at. We’ll never be macho, but we’re driven by the same abundance of hormones that drove us into forming a band in the first place, when we were 16 and incapable of playing any instruments. Maybe that’s part of the punk rock spirit. Whatever, it’s fun and it’s worth holding onto and working. When I saw X a couple of months ago, the first time I’d seen them since the release of Under the Big Black Sun, they still played from that spot within themselves. They still played fast and sweaty. They played what my bandmates and I refer to as Forearm Rock. Everyone was clearly older and probably not capable of generating as wicked a hormonal storm as they once were, but shit, it was X. When I watched this Clash video this afternoon, a song I was listening to in my car as I pulled into work this morning this morning and sat in the car until it finished, I was immediately transported back to my teenage years, when I first learned, to paraphrase Led Zeppelin, to know what it means to be a, not quite, man, but you know, as close to a man as I could imagine ever being. Proto-Macho. Your Rock Town Hall Glossary entry for the day.