On British Invasions, And Why They Might Not Happen In The USA Again

Part of the answer lies in the endless American fascination with the British accent, which many Americans misinterpret as pre-ordained brilliance. Certain words just sound nicer when spoken with an accent. Adding to that, there’s a whole subset of the English language derived from British culture’s exotic appeal. For instance, “the dole.” For Americans, it conjures up The Stones and people “hangin’ fire,” drinking beer heroically at 6:30 a.m., and generally participating in some form of ersatz hooky. Of course, the reality is that it’s welfare (and if there’s one thing a God-fearing American hates, it’s welfare—although we love our guns and Sunday football).

The Rolling Stones = not gay.

How do these British Invasions reflect on America, a country that so virulently worked overtime to make sure it would not be a British colony? In short, America has invited these apparent rebellions in an effort to make sure that another country bears the brunt of all the debauchery and ills. Led Zeppelin and their inflatable shark and Mick Jagger’s Mars Bars collection are perfectly acceptable just as long as they remain part of English folklore and not American. This goes a long way in explaining why Americans have pioneered the concept of handlers. Nobody must know that Elvis died on the toilet; summon a handler to talk to the press. Brian Wilson seems a bit cranky without his ice cream; where’s his handler? In America, we participate in rebellion, but on a gigantic apologetic scale, to ensure that we’re not perceived as binge-drinkers or degenerates or pill-heads; there’s a reason why People magazine could only prosper in America. Every dog gets its own VH1 Behind The Music story in America.

Sort of a pastel black.

So, will there be another British Invasion in America? I remain skeptical. There’s been the pretty/ugly combo, the ugly/pretty combo, the pretty/pretty combo, and the ugly/ugly combo thrust upon us (Depeche Mode). There isn’t much the British have left to export that can shock or cajole or make us titter. We bestow Grammy Awards to Robert Plant, we give Congressional Medals to The Who, and we put David Bowie’s sequined outfits behind glass in a museum. The next British Invasion that comes along is going to have to completely up-end everything. Until then, I’m putting my money on the Portuguese.

Pages: 1 2