The role of sex and drugs in rock ‘n’ roll is well documented. We are equally aware of the importance of living fast, dying young and leaving a corpse that is either good looking or completely unrecognisable. We know that some kind of personality disorder is usually considered helpful, if not a prerequisite, for rock stardom, and that not being one of the beautiful people is only excusable if you have a shedload of talent and an imaginative photographer to find your ‘best angle’. Weight, however, is a criminally ignored factor in this equation, and we at The Baggage are seeking to redress this balance in this, our first ever circumferentially challenged issue.
You see, up until recently the chunkier members of the rock glitterati were confined to the rhythm section, where the bulk could be passed off as necessary for the pounding of drums / holding of a quite heavy guitar for the length of a gig. But no longer, for recent times have proved that a growing affection for the pies does not mean an Elvisesque plunge into career tragedy. After his split from Take That, the number of column inches Robbie Williams received was directly proportional to the extra inches on his wasteband. Ultrasound’s hilariously-named frontman Tiny is the Sophie Dahl of pop, showing that bigger-than-average famous people do exist, and various Spices and Saints are making a point of showing off their swelling bellies as pregnancy becomes the new rock ‘n’ roll. Just one look at this issue’s front cover shows that pop stars from both ends of the weight disordered spectrum can coexist without any Little and Large style bickering.
This is all in a perfect world, of course. The fact is that Sophie Dahl is the token chubby chick on a catwalk full of supermodels, and Tiny Ultrasound is the token fat bloke in a scene full of skinny-to-anorexic young men who are much better at being fey and interesting than he is. Fat just doesn’t have the tragically romantic resonance of skinny - I can’t see Ultrasound recording a song called ‘26st7lbs’ and the more times you see his tortured artist impression, the more you realise that it won’t be long before he’s being wheeled out on TFI Friday as a fat Brett Anderson.
The problem is that rock music has its rules which are as rooted in the past as most of its chord progressions and no band who fly in the face of them are ever going to be more than an exception to reinforce the rule. Even the Spice Girls / All Saints success stories will mean nothing if people don’t stop referring to them in terms of their gender - the tag ‘most successful female band ever’ still smacks of ‘not bad for a girl’.
But then, does it really matter? Discrimination in everyday life is one thing, but rock music as an equal opportunities employer? I can’t see it myself, and if it means that all the fragile beautiful young things who grace our TV screen and music papers every week are going to be replaced by Tiny and his Sounds Of Fatness, then I’m not sure I want it either.