When it comes to band t-shirts, a lot of folks have a lot of rules and hang-ups, and, let’s just face it, I’m very much one of them. I have always been of the very firmly brandished and needlessly antagonistic opinion that if you’re not an actual fan of the band in question (and yes, that means being able to cite at least three goddamn songs), you really shouldn’t be fucking wearing the shirt. I honestly do not give a single, rolling rat fuck if that makes me a "gatekeeper" or whatever. Just don’t do it.
I’m also not a fan of the pre-distressed variety, or the ability to procure band t-shirts at places like The Gap or American Eagle or shit retail outlets of that ilk. It still irks the snots out of me that Brandy Melville — a strangely exclusive clothiers for teenage girls that only sells their duds in one single slim size — formerly sold Ramones t-shirts with the original (and comparatively very rare) artwork from Road to Ruin before Punk Magazine’s John Holmstrom re-rendered it in a more suitable style. The notion of selling a super specific bit of obscure Ramones ephemera to a demographic that is almost guaranteed to be entirely disinterested in it practically keeps me up at night. Yeah, I’m that guy. Deal with it.
For petty, idiotic shitheads like myself for whom the art and iconography of certain artists means a great deal more than it probably should, t-shirts emblazoned with certain symbols, insignia or signifiers are still a means of broadly telegraphing tribal affiliation. If I see you walking down the street in, say, a t-shirt with the album art from the first Fields of the Nephilim album on it, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you and I are kindred spirits with common interests. If I discover, however, that you’re only wearing it because you think it “looks cool,” or some variation thereof, you should expect scorn.
So, yeah, I’m a jerk, especially considering I’m in my mid-50s and probably should have stopped wearing band t-shirts about a decade ago. But, y’know, whatever.
But, I think we can all agree — as silly as I may be — that this relatively new spin on the band t-shit, modeled after the visual user experience when one plays a track on a streaming platform like Spotify is fucking abjectly sad on a level that borders on tragedy.
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