Dimitri
Full Member
Listen to the wind blow, Down comes the night. Break the silence, d**n the dark, d**n the light...
Posts: 235
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Post by Dimitri on Sept 27, 2005 13:00:41 GMT -5
I guess I should explain, as many people are ignorant to 60's social groups.
There were two main social groups in England during the mid-60's. The Mods and Rockers.
The rockers preferred to wear black leather jackets and long hair. Their main modes of transport were either old cars or motorcycles, and their favorite poison was alcohol. The most important fact I can get across about rockers, however, is this:
Rockers hate Mods.
The Mods were the more fashion conscious group, driving about on expensive Italian scooters, wearing sharp suits, hair neat and trim, and popping lots of pills as "party favors". They liked to listen to old American R&B and newer English groups that could capture the same sound, which they felt catered to their amphetamine fueled aggressions.
And they hated rockers with all their pilled-up hearts.
How can I, an American born and bred teenager, tell a story of groups that long burned out before I was even thought of, you may ask.
Simple: interest, research, and making two fictional characters to play out.
Get ready for a ride...
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Dimitri
Full Member
Listen to the wind blow, Down comes the night. Break the silence, d**n the dark, d**n the light...
Posts: 235
|
Post by Dimitri on Sept 27, 2005 13:25:06 GMT -5
I Am the Rocker The lights come up, the smell of leather mixed with anticipation of what comes next creates edgy feel in the crowd. Looking around at the crowd in their black bomber jackets, long hair, and faded jeans, who they are is readily apparent: They are the rockers. Standing in the crowd, as close to the stage as he can get, a young teenager with long blond hair is busily trying to locate his friends. "Hey! Johnny! Erin! Where'd ya get lost to?" he shouts vainly over the crackling amplifiers on-stage and riotous violence of the crowd. They'll never hear me in this den. Too bad. I got us some great spots. As he pears around, another member of the audience shoves him hard, almost knocking him out of his much-valued spot. "Gerrout, you stupid git!" he shouts as he delivers a swift kick to the stomach the usurper, who sinks to the floor and lies gasping for air. "Oy, Roger!, did you just knock this mate down?" shouts a tall, lanky teen dressed in usual rocker regalia as he fights his way through the sea of leather jackets and punches, taking the now vacant spot next to Roger. "Yeah, he was tryin' to edge into my ground, Erin." Roger replies. The twit should've known better than to try to edge me out. He deserved to get the wind beat outta his lungs "By the way, Erin, where's Johnny?" "Eh, who cares? The show's about to start, Rog!" At the sound of Erin's words, the first harsh guitar chords of the band blast out of the stages amplifiers, sending the audience into a fury of cheers.
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Dimitri
Full Member
Listen to the wind blow, Down comes the night. Break the silence, d**n the dark, d**n the light...
Posts: 235
|
Post by Dimitri on Sept 27, 2005 17:41:44 GMT -5
I Am the Mod New Italian suit, pocket full o' blues and purple hearts, and the best scooter in London. Cor, I love it.A young Mod is rushing through the crowded traffic, swerving haphazardly through the autos on his beloved Vespa scooter. The amphetamine is blasting through his veins, and he feels invincible, on top of the world. "Hahahahaha!! What a great bunch of gits!" he roars as he tears down the pavement. "You'd think they'd get out of a person's way!" He continues his wild ride until he reaches his destination, the sanctuary, the Goldhawk Social Club. after he carefully parks his Vespa, he scouts the line of scooters parked in front, looking to see if his friends had made the scene before him. Hmm..There's Billy's piece of trash, there's Sam's ride, and there's....The young Mod's eyes rest upon perhaps the most beautiful scooter ever built. It has polished chrome and lacquering, real leather seat, and four blindingly dazzling mirrors. There was no mistake about who it belonged to... The Ace Face.... "Hey, Scott! Over here!" A voice shouts . Scott turns around quickly to see that his friends Billy and Sam were standing next to the entrance to the club. "We figured you'd come boppin' in sooner or later." Billy guffaws, his rather large stomach quivering with each laugh. "Yeah, so we decided to wait before we went in to pick up some birds." Sam adds his rather honky voice, taking out a few pills from his pocket and popping them into his mouth. "Yeh, yeh. " Scott hastily speaks. "Did you guys see the Ace Face's ride?" "Yeah, top-o'-the-line finish on that one" Billy excitedly yips. "Those mirrors had to cost 20 pounds apiece. Where does the Face get that kinda bread?" Sam pipes in. "Who cares, lads? He's our leader, so who can say where it comes from. Let's go find some girls, shall we?" Scott muses with a sly look in his eye. "Yeah!!" cry Billy and Sam in unison. With that, the trio enter the Goldhawk club's doorway, their blood full of speed and ears full of the music of the preforming band. [glow=red,2,300] I hope I die before I get old... Talkin' 'bout my generation[/glow]
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