I wouldn't normally post song lyrics here, but I just picked up Clutch's new album, From Beale St. to Oblivion, and the first song, "You Can't Stop Progress," grabbed me right by the short hairs.

Yes, I'll be a responsible member
of this great and bless'd society
I've come to understand the wrongful nature
of gun ownership in the age of monarchy.
But sometimes it's just so hard
to act like the person you weren't supposed to be.

Felonious behavior.
Countless misdemeanors.
Impersonating an officer of the law.

Bonafide man of action,
how you like that?

You can't stop,
you can't stop progress
You can't stop,
you can't stop no, no, no.

I understand there's no victimless crimes.
That being said I feel rather victimized.
And I'll seek substantial compensation.
Whether legally, legal-ish, or otherwise.
But sometimes it's such a hassle
to sit patiently outside the open gates of a loaded castle.

Goddamn, that's good writing. And it gets me thinking: How does one go about being an individual in this age of apathy and forced conformity? Most of my generation and the generations behind me seem all too content to live life the way it's shown on MTV. "The Real World," my ass. I remember seeing the first season as a young boy living a sheltered life. I recall turning to my sister, three years my senior, and asking, "Is this how people really live?" "I doubt it," was her all-too-correct answer. But sadly, the majority of our peers didn't see it that way. Ultimately, it was MTV's coverage of Spring Break that sealed the deal, turning thousands of kids into drunken meatheads and girls gone wild.

Here, kids! Watch these five mintue commercials for disposable pop acts, self-absorbed "rock stars," and rappers who don't know the value of a dollar. Watch and learn, boys and girls, and they'll show you everything you need to know about life. Women are bubbleheads who have nothing to offer but a toned midriff and plastic knockers. Men drive flash cars with wheels bigger than a jumbo pizza and drink Cristal from jewel-encrusted goblets. Talent is meaningless, as long as you've got "the look." Anyone with artistic integrity is to be ignored until they've gone platinum, which, of course, they won't. Success is measured by the car you drive and the number of diamonds on your watch. To believe anything else is to be an outsider, but not an "acceptable" outsider like those nice young men from Good Charlotte.

Rebellion is a commodity. It's bought and sold in shopping malls across the land, a pre-made uniform that lets people know exactly what kind of rebel you are. You and all your rebel buddies can shop at the same store, put your new purchases on in the food court bathroom, and hang around the mall in a group so everyone can see you. Of course, if anyone actually does pay attention to you, maybe gives you an annoyed look, they're a conformist who believes in all the things you hate. Because nothing screams non-conformist like a dozen kids stanging together wearing black eyeliner and lipstick, Doc Marten's, and AFI t-shirts. Or DC Shoes sweatshirts, baggy cargo, pants and Element shoes (because that's what Bam Margera wears!), with their caps worn at jaunty angles.

Trust me, I know this is nothing new. But once upon a time, the youth was feared, and not just by the over-60 set who don't understand anyone under 30. In the 50s, all rock music was actively suppressed by the Establishment, because of the fear that it would increase hormone production and overdrive the unformed and impressionable minds of the kids into uncharted waters of self-expression and sexual desire. A one-lunged Native American guitar player named Link Wray, looking to avoid the trappings of his country music roots, penned a song called "Rumble." It was immediately banned by radio stations all over the nation. Station owners felt the song was irresponsible, that it's graphic depiction of a fight between youth-gangs would incite kids to violence. It's slow, pulsating rythyms would defile the pure thoughts of teenagers and drive them mad with lust. Even Wray's own record label had problems with the song. The owner's beliefs were firmly in line with the rest of the Establishment: Link Wray must be stopped. Despite "Rumble" hitting the Top 20 album charts, his label shelved his follow-up album, effectively destroying any chance of Wray achieving the stardom he so richly deserved. The irony to all the uproar over "Rumble" is this: "Rumble" is an instrumental. Not one word is uttered during it's three-minute playing time. Link Wray scared the hell out of every adult in the nation with an instrumental.

By the time the British Invasion hit in the 60s, the Establishment was realizing what a powerful, money-making demographic the kids could be. The big studios began aping independant film producer American Internation Pictures' formula of making movies for teenage audiences. The Beatles became the original "boy band," with their grinning, Limey mugs plastered on any product a kid might blow their allowance on. By 1970, everyone was co-opting youth culture to make money. Even car companies tried to boost sales with "hip" imagery. Chrysler used Warner Brothers cartoon characters as mascots for their muscle cars. General Motors had a long-haired mad scientist named Dr. Oldsmobile hawking 442s. AMC even had a cartoon hippy running through their brochures to promote their high-performance "Go Package" upgrade. And each and every American car company drenched their promotional litterature in "psychedelic" text and "groovy" slang.

Nowadays, the key age demographic every marketing firm and advertising agency shoots for is 18-34. My generation has grown so apathetic that if they even notice that they're being exploited and pandered to, they don't care. They'll buy two cans of Axe body spray and hose themselves down just like the skinny idiots in the ads (never mind the fact they smell worse than a papermill in August). Why expose yourself to art if it's not being shown in a twenty-screen megaplex, complete with an hour of commercials and trailers? You can always reject the mainstream by listening to bands like System of a Down and Audioslave, who hate the Establishment so much they occasionally take Clear Channel's cock out of their collective mouths long enough to say so.

I'm just sick of the whole thing. The best a guy like me can hope for is to find a group of sympathetic freaks, young alien-types, who, as DEVO said, will step out and declare, "We're through being cool." No uniforms, no group-think. Just a confederation of like-minded individuals who get together from time to time to have a laugh at the expense of those who would laugh at us and seek to exploit us.

I've been sitting here for an hour, and I'm starting to stew in my own juices. Time for a shower.