Authors: Ben Pobjie
Eschewing corporatism, processed foods, brand names, shampoo and soap, Strummers seek to unite us rather than divide us, which is ironic given how effectively they can disperse a crowd with their distinctive smell. A perfect embodiment of the stirring belief that all a man needs is a guitar, a dream, and some sandals, the Unkempt Strummer gives hopes to all dirty-haired dreamers that someday they too can hit the ‘open road’ and live a life free from regret and employment.
Occasionally a Strummer will strike a chord with the wider public (N.B. If you ever meet a Tunester, make a joke about striking a chord – they’ll think it’s hilarious, because of music and everything) and find himself with an actual career and money. This does not mean, of course, he will abandon his Strummer lifestyle – he will still smoke weed.
Less likely to smoke weed or promote peace and love is one of the more virulent strains of Tunester: the
Furiouscore
. Unlike the Kerrang, with whom he shares some common lineage, the Furiouscore’s anger is no act – he genuinely does hate pretty much everything, which is why he enjoys music about people hating pretty much everything. The Furiouscore is filled with an inner rage that can only be expressed through screaming at the top of his lungs in a room full of people also screaming at the top of their lungs, and some musical instruments being almost played. Furiouscores are notable for their scowls, their rudeness to other human beings, and their steadfast refusal to even tentatively concede the merits of music with tunes or comprehensible lyrics. This kind of principled stand is at the heart of the Furiouscore personality – no other Bloke has as much integrity for so little purpose.
While many Tunester breeds make use of mind-altering substances – from the communion pills of the Doofer to the grass of the Strummer – these hold little appeal for most Furiouscores. Indeed, many subspecies of Furiouscore reject such substances altogether, dedicating themselves to an ascetic lifestyle wherein their bodies are worshipped as temples and they refrain from temptations such as alcohol or drugs or senses of humour. These subspecies are known as ‘straight-edge’ after the rulers they use to measure their penises each night.
Other subspecies do partake of the odd tipple, but mostly just as an excuse to have a bottle to smash in their faces. Whatever the individual Furiouscore’s attitude to such refreshments, however, they are always incidental to the Furiouscore lifestyle, which is all about howling with rage at the injustice of the world and capitalism or something.
Unlike those Tunesters who enjoy wide open spaces or large barns in which to indulge their Tunesterism, Furiouscores prefer small, enclosed, sweaty spaces. In fact, Furiouscorism has been diagnosed by some medical professionals as an extremely loud form of agoraphobia, and some biologists believe Furiouscores may share common ancestry with moles in their seemingly innate need to find tiny burrows in which to secrete themselves. Oddly, though in many ways the least social of Tunesters, Furiouscores have a greater need to press tightly up against other people, and often seem lost and disorientated when they can feel fresh air on their skins.
Like most Tunesters, Furiouscores are not averse to the tattooist’s needle, but generally eschew inspirational Japanese characters and naked women with snakes for angry denunciations of social mores and political elites, or expressions of deeply felt angst like ‘Frig the System’ or ‘I Feel Out of Sorts’.
Apart from the obvious matter of being a shorter-haired variety in comparison to other superficially similar Tunesters like the Kerrang, the Furiouscore also stands out because of his intense dislike of wherever he happens to be. Many people, in fact, would reject the Furiouscore’s claim to be a Bloke given his pronounced lack of patriotism, but this overlooks the fact that a common trait within the Bloke kingdom is what might be termed ‘anti-Blokeism’. In the case of Furiouscores, hating their country and the shackles it imposes is a big part of their identity; if they were anywhere else, they’d hate it just as much, but it’s best not to mention this to them as they may headbutt you or make you listen to Black Flag.
Furiouscores also tend to have an intense dislike of other Tunesters, especially the Unkempt Strummer – if forced to spend any length of time in the company of a Strummer, most Furiouscores will quickly resort to violence.
Like all Tunesters, the Furiouscore’s taste in music dictates their behaviour in other areas of life, including table manners, conversation, and sexual intercourse, which for the Furiouscore resembles nothing so much as a jackhammer with a grudge. Effective and yet not exactly joyous, their approach to mating stands in stark contrast to the light-headed rhythms of the Greater Doofer, the wild abandon of the Kerrang, the meditative gradualism of the Strummer, or even the rarely seen atonal minimalist pumping of the now critically endangered Tunester species, the
Vested Glassblower
.
It can be seen from these examples just how divided the various Tunester breeds are, and in many ways this is a shame. It is inherent in the Tunester’s nature to be suspicious and often hostile towards other Tunesters, and so the Tunester community finds itself unable to band together against the outside world, which tends to find all breeds equally aggravating. However, the Tunester fills an important niche in Bloke society, and, as a broadly peace-loving Bloke, can usually be relied upon to provide soothing words, comforting tunes and possibly some trivia about the Velvet Underground if it’s needed. Tunesters are often not the ‘Blokiest’ of Blokes, but they are full-blooded Blokes nonetheless, and a beautiful part of the rich tapestry of Blokedom. They bring music into our hearts, whether we want them to or not, and we would be poorer without them.
Did you know
… the 2003 Bloke census determined that the five most common Bloke occupations were auto mechanic, plumber, gardener, website designer, and parliamentary whip.
The Artist is an unusual Bloke, and one who has been the subject of much intense study, even furious debate, among experts. Combining many elements from other species, particularly Snags and Tunesters, in the past, the Artist has been considered by some Blokeologists to not even be a separate species, but rather a random mutation. However, the accumulation of reliable studies showing the size and breadth of Artist populations, together with anthropological surveys demonstrating the uniqueness and undeniable richness of Artist culture, are convincing proof of definitive speciation. There is also no doubt that they share a common ancestor with the Snag and the Tunester, and their similarities allow the species to mix together freely in a social context and lend each other books.
Artists are usually quite recognisable in public due to their ragged, avant-garde clothing, carefully unkempt hairstyles, and expressions of deep dissatisfaction with the world. A Bloke with paint-spattered jeans, black thick-framed glasses, or an ill-fitting suit jacket worn over an angry sloganeering T-shirt, is probably an Artist. They are not usually friendly to strangers, and can become quite aggressive if roused, so do not approach one unless you are willing to offer him free alcohol.
Artists generally stick to urban areas, and, if by unlucky chance they end up born in suburban or rural regions, will head for the city the first chance they get, desperate to find sustenance in the overpriced drinks and Save Live Music petitions of the inner metropolitan regions. Curiously, in the mature stage of their life cycle, the Artist will, if successful in his chosen profession, move back out to the country, where he will sit smugly looking at the trees and bragging about how connected to the land he is.
Most Artists are not successful, due to the distressingly large supply-demand gap in the Artist world, and so the usual habitat for the species is usually the small, trendy pub, where Artists go to complain about the lack of public funding for the arts, or else in their own home, sobbing quietly. They can also be found working in record stores, or pretending to sketch people in Centrelink.
The belief that the Artist is just a strain of other Bloke species is understandable when you consider the parallels between him and his closer relations. For instance, like a Snag, most of the time the Artist will express deep sensitivity towards and solidarity with women, and pride himself on his feminist credentials and ability to see the human race in a more enlightened and egalitarian way. Unlike the Snag, however, the Artist will consider this attitude to be mostly theoretical, acknowledging the equality of women in general, but frequently treating actual live women as, essentially, disposable art supplies. Some have described this as ‘cruel’, but it may be unfair to judge the Artist too harshly because, when observing the Artist’s treatment of the opposite sex, it is important to recognise that, unlike other Blokes who mistreat women, at least the Artist may get a nice drawing out of the experience.
Just as the Artist’s socio-sexual attitudes have something in common with the Snag, there are also strong similarities with the Tunester, as the Artist is passionately committed to an art form, and allows it to utterly consume his life. The main difference is that, unlike most Tunesters, Artists are actually trying to make a living from the art form in question; therefore, while being passionately committed, the Artist will at the same time loathe the art form and secretly wish he’d gone to business school. Of course, it is still entirely possible for him to actually go to business school, but that is the tragedy of the Artist: he wishes his life could take a different course, but that sounds like a lot of work.
The Artist also has much in common with the Leftite – the two species’ politics often intersect, and Artists are frequently recruited by Leftites to assist in their pointless campaigns. A minority of Artists will also swing the other way, identifying with Rightoid political theory because they think it makes them seem iconoclastic. Many of the internal disputes within Artist society in the past have been caused by ferocious disagreement over which political stance makes one more special.
The Artist is a unique presence in the Bloke kingdom, wandering about the streets, ghost-like, floating through social structures without ever really becoming a part of them. They do gather in social groups from time to time to discuss art, compare notes, and pretend not to hate each other. Generally, however, they prefer solitude, because it gives them an opportunity to say ‘I prefer solitude’. A major marker of status in Artist society is the ability to brood, with the most highly regarded Artists often able to achieve a Brood Intensity Rating of up to +12, and sustain their brooding for over fourteen hours at a stretch. If you see an Artist brooding in a corner of a bar or on a park bench, keep your distance – or go up to him and tell him how darkly fascinating you think he is: either should make him happy. Don’t expect him to look happy, though: that would kind of defeat the purpose.
This is not to say that Artists are incapable of joviality or bonhomie. Indeed, Artists often throw the most raucous and ebullient of parties, and do go through phases of gregariousness and merriment. However, these are generally considered counterpoints to the brooding, and it is considered polite to treat them as just further proof of how intense and complex the Artist is. Calling an Artist ‘happy’ is in fact quite a faux pas; it is much better, instead, to refer to the many, many
other
people who the Artist makes happy by selflessly sharing his creative vision with the world, even at the expense of his own happiness.
At times, an Artist may produce some art, although this is not essential.
All Artists are motivated by the same basic urges: to gain respect, to be admired, to have sex, to drink heavily. But the species can be divided into subspecies according to how their urges manifest themselves. Thus, the varieties of Artist include:
The
Brush-Tailed Dauber
. This small, easily frightened Artist lives in confined spaces, feeding off his own resentment. With few natural defences against predators, the Dauber, when threatened, will defend himself by talking about colour, light and shade until the predator gets bored and goes away. Colour, light and shade are extremely important to the Dauber, and he will fixate on them to the exclusion of all else for days at a time, breaking concentration only to eat and have nervous breakdowns.
Motivated greatly by a desire to be remembered after he is dead, the Dauber pursues this aim both by thinking up innovative methods of suicide, and by ‘pushing new boundaries’. Nobody really knows what this means, but many Daubers have been observed in the wild, throwing paint at things, dropping paint on things, and smearing paint on various bodily appendages, which are then rubbed against canvas; it is thought that these are the ‘boundaries’ which the Dauber wishes to push, leading many to claim that ‘pushing boundaries’, in the language of the Brush-Tailed Dauber, can be roughly translated as ‘being a nutjob’. This school of thought has it that if medication could be developed to treat Daubers, they’d stop doing all that weird stuff with paint, settle down and draw caricatures in a shopping centre. The difficulty is capturing Daubers to experiment on, as most Daubers die quickly in captivity, much like the Great White Shark, another species known for feeling unappreciated by the wider world.
If you see a Dauber it is probably safe to approach him, but be warned that he will certainly try to convince you that the ugly picture of his cat on the wardrobe is meaningful. You may have to lie.
Speaking of dishonesty, the
Conceptualista
, a close but perverted cousin of the Dauber, has risen to much prominence in recent years, due to its aggressive breeding strategies and talent for self-promotion. The main difference between a Conceptualista and a Dauber is that a Dauber tends to possess some artistic talent, however wasted it might be. The Conceptualista, on the other hand, possesses no artistic talent whatsoever, and wishes to rub that fact right in your gullible face.
Recognisable by his wild eyes and hideously garish clothes, the Conceptualista is genetically predisposed to intense self-awareness and a total lack of shame; knowing full well he lacks talent, he seeks to compensate for his handicap through shock tactics and general stupidity. This can take many forms: some Conceptualistas will stack bricks on top of each other; some will freeze-dry water buffalo and place them in erotic poses on the steps of Parliament House; and some will simply wrap everything they can find in plastic, before shouting ‘It’s Art!’ at people, and running away with massive armfuls of cash.
It is always dangerous to get too close to a Conceptualista, as there is a strong chance he will show you a toilet bowl full of mandarins and demand a large fee. If you refuse to pay him, he will punch you in the face. He’ll then show a video of him punching you in the face in slow motion at a major gallery, and demand a large fee.
Less likely to demand, receive, or get anywhere near a large fee, the
Laugh-o-Meter
is an Artist born without the gene that generates self-esteem, and therefore goes through life suffering from desperate insecurity and powerful self-loathing. Unable to generate any kind of sense of self-worth naturally, the Laugh-o-Meter (or LoM) attempts to synthesise these feelings by inducing laughter in others, off which he then feeds in much the same manner as an addict feeds off heroin. The LoM is essentially unable to function unless he is creating laughter, although in a pinch he can get by just by telling people he is a comedian and not revealing he works at Woolworths stacking shelves.
Unfortunately, the feelings of validation created when a LoM gets a laugh are relatively short-lived, which tragically means he may attempt to make jokes not just while on stage, but also in social situations with friends, if he has any. Even more unfortunate is the fact that the LoM’s need to gain self-esteem by inducing laughter rarely correlates with his ability to induce said laughter, which leads to unpleasant circumstances for everyone involved. This can be particularly nasty when a LoM attempts to write a book, for example on different varieties of Bloke, which may cause widespread misery among unsuspecting readers.
Laugh-o-Meters can be easily recognised by the haunted look in their eyes and the Centrelink queue they’re standing in.
And in that Centrelink queue they may be standing next to a
Poet
, a shy, sensitive Bloke who seeks to give voice to his artistic muse by deliberately pursuing the least lucrative career path ever devised. The pursuit of poetry promises instead to get them laid every now and then, and allows them to wear long black coats and purple nail polish without a trace of irony.
The Poet is a creature of agony – the agony of undiscovered genius. The fact nobody seems to realise how brilliant he is, and how much good he is doing for the world, tortures him and drives him to drink, especially if someone else is paying. He generally finds it difficult to relate to other Blokes, particularly those with good muscle tone, and lives his life in a fog of confusion, baffled and frustrated by the fact that people prefer entertainment to poetry.
Poets can usually be found in small, dark bars, looking angry and occasionally reading their poetry to tiny audiences of other poets, who applaud vigorously whenever anyone says the word ‘fuck’ slightly louder than the other words in a sentence.
Sharing some of the Poet’s frustrations, but with less overt anger, is the
Foot-lit Declaimer
, a handsome, confident Bloke who is unemployed and driven by an irresistible need to create heartbreaking performance art and be unemployed. Declaimers, like most Artists, can be found in places where drinks are cheap – often they are the ones serving them, although Declaimers tend not to remain in any job for too long because it interferes with their unemployment.
The Declaimer’s main pastime is complaining. An Artist with a keen sense of justice, the Declaimer cannot believe so many no-talent hacks are getting parts on TV ahead of him. Luckily, he doesn’t even care though, because the Declaimer is all about the work, not about the money and the fame – although this can potentially change should he come into contact with money or fame.
Declaimers will sometimes look vaguely familiar to you, but it is unwise to ask one where you know him from, because he might tell you.
Artists are important Blokes in Australian society, fulfilling a vital role, and not just by waiting tables. They provide the rich cultural pursuits and deep insights into human nature that help prevent Blokes descending into the savage, caveman state that most of them would quite like to descend into. Although many Blokes deride Artists as ‘wankers’ or ‘poofters’ or ‘that dickhead in the beret’, it is important to recognise that without Artists, Blokedom would be a less colourful, modernist-sculpture-free realm, which would be a tragedy that would sadly go unnoticed without Artists to point it out to us.
Did you know
… the word ‘Bloke’ is believed to derive from the Latin ‘Bulokum’, which means ‘he who runs naked across the Colosseum’ – originally it was thought to be a variant of the Sanskrit ‘Billiok’, meaning ‘sixpack’.