The sound of coolness

by RAF KATIGBAK

Shane H. was the coolest guy in Grade 9, which, in my 14-year-old mind, also made him the coolest guy in the universe. Shane had the quality that all innately cool people possess: effortlessness. The thing about being cool is, as soon as you look like you’re trying to be cool, you’re probably not. Being cool when you’re 14 and your hormones are raging and you don’t understand what you’re going through and you’re saying stupid things that you’ll regret all the time because you’re always confused and horny is really tough.

But not for Shane. He had the perfect combination of aloofness and style that made all the girls fall for him, all the nerds want to be him and all the jocks call him “fag” behind his back because they probably wanted to bone him.

He was also one of the first real skaters in my grade. He was pinning his jeans and having perfectly mussed up skater hair before anyone. My guess is that he had an older brother. That kind of developed style and ahead of the curve-ness can only be passed down from experience. I imagined his older brother had a name like Brad (it was cool because it rhymed with “rad”) and lived in New York or Miami or someplace cool like that.

I, on the other hand, had many siblings, but mostly older sisters. Like Shane’s imaginary brother, they were hugely influential on me. Unlike Shane’s imaginary brother, however, they didn’t like cool bands and skate culture; they liked vibrant colours and show tunes. This unfortunate fact, coupled with my confused awkward nerdy Asian brain, caused me to come to school looking not like the epitome of cool, but more like a Japanese cowboy at a gay pride parade.

Even though I knew I couldn’t be fit like Shane, or have mussed up curly hair like Shane or be white like Shane (yes, I actually gave a shit about that when I was a kid), I thought maybe I could at least dress like him. I probably couldn’t pin my jeans ’cause my myopic eyes and fidgety hands would probably leave my fingers looking like I high-fived a porcupine, but maybe I could wear the same t-shirts. One of the ones that he always wore featured a soldier with a helmet that said “Meat Is Murder” across it with “The Smiths” running down the left hand side. I didn’t know who the Smiths were. I knew they were a band, but I had no idea what they sounded like. But Shane was cool and tough, so I imagined that the Smiths were some kind of heavy brutal music. Maybe it was tough hardcore skate punk? Or maybe it was like heavy metal, you know, grinding and pounding like a blacksmith (I told you I was nerdy). I made a mental note to listen to the Smiths and moved on, spending the rest of my high school thinking about what it would be like to be someone else.

It wasn’t until years later in university that I finally heard the band. Funnily enough, it was from another effortlessly cool person: Anna S., my university crush. She was from a wealthy intellectual family in New York, her father was an art critic for some fancy magazine and her mom was a professor. One day, I was looking through her cassette collection and then I saw it: the same Meat Is Murder helmet, except this time repeated four times in a grid. It was finally time to hear the Smiths, to find out what kind of insanely brutal music my tough skater punk high school idol listened to. I put it on and braced myself for what should have been the sludgiest music ever. What came out of the speakers was some of the wussiest shit I had ever heard in my life. This music sounded like Kermit the Frog on Demerol. I felt cheated. The Smiths were super gay and Shane was a wimp.

Only about a decade later, after a few heartbreaks and tough times, did I learn to appreciate the Smiths and subsequently Shane. Maybe he was misunderstood. Maybe being cool was not all it was cracked up to be. Maybe he wanted people to know that deep inside, behind the tough skater punk, he was a tortured soul that couldn’t fit in. One thing is for sure, love them or hate them, you should totally come out to the Smiths vs. Misfits costume party I’m throwing on Saturday night at le Milieu (6545 Durocher, suite 200). We got a Smiths cover band and a Misfits cover band. See, everybody’s happy! How’s that for self-promotion? Zing! Party starts at 10 p.m.

RIFF-RAFF@SYMPATICO.CA