Reptilian thoughts: why it's OK to wear band badges after all

"The man who never alters his opinion is like standing water, and breeds reptiles of the mind"

Or so said William Blake. Not that I'm about to change my mind on anything too earth-shatteringly important. But: band badges. The wearing of. A few years ago I said (rather smugly) only pinheads wear badges. That's to say, band badges on lapels. (Other sorts of badges are pretty naff too, not least the obligatory and-not-at-all-phony NHS one worn by Matt Hancock these days). But ... I've had a minor re-think. While I mostly still dislike band t-shirts (especially the big "heritage" ones: the Clash, the Ramones, Joy Division), I've come around to badges lately. Why's that, Mr Niluccio, you'll be wondering. Well ... 

... well, actually, I don't know! Or I don't exactly know. But I think it's got something to do with what feels to me like a slightly bland quality to the way a lot of people present themselves in public these days. Somehow, the mainstream's Love Island-ification of "style" has sort of filtered down even to the places I tend to frequent. That's to say: vaguely offbeat bars and gig venues (back in the old pre-Covid days anyway) seem to be full of people looking a bit too glam, a bit too straight. In this context, a band badge (cheap, possibly obscure, unlikely to betoken wealth or status) introduces something vaguely "irregular". What, a badge? Hmm, OK. I don't mean "classic" band badges from the punk era. I don't myself fancy going around wearing an Undertones badge or something like that (though I'll come back to this very thing in a moment). No, I think it needs to be a more recent band/concept (just as punk was once new). And, for my taste at least, it shouldn't be anything too "obvious" (yeah, be a man/woman of mystery). Whatever. I'm hardly laying down a detailed manifesto ("On The Wearing Of Badges", a treatise in three parts). No, wear whatever you want - ya bloody moron! All I'm saying is that at the unlikely age of about 72 (or whatever I am), I've developed a weird middle-aged soft spot for band badges. And that's that! Meanwhile, check these out ... 

This is not a love song (it's a group of badges)

Like 'em? An incredibly random mini-bunch, they're apparently the only remaining badges I have from my long-lost youth. I found them in an old container at my mother's house at the weekend (along with the Haçienda matchbox I blogged about earlier in the week). Remembrance of musical moments lost. I won't bore you with the "story" of these badges, but just to say: the Talking Heads, PiL, Smiths and Pete Shelley Band (geometric pattern) ones are promo freebies from my days working in a record shop ('84-'87). Kinda uninteresting really. The other three are slightly better: the not-very-attractive CND one is from my anarcho-punk period (about 1980-82) while, best of all, the two Undertones beauties are from my first flush of musical youth. The Undertones' first LP was also my first LP (first LP that I bought, that is), and I spent a chunk of my mid-teens wearing one of these and a seemingly-now-lost Stiff Little Fingers badge (RIP SLF). Ah, every badge is worth a thousands words, no? (No). So anyway, to be clear I won't be resurrecting these old badges. They're going back in a drawer somewhere. But a badge of a more recent vintage may indeed grace a jacket lapel or a scruffy t-shirt chest of mine in the near future. So if you see me wearing my Freakender badge (for example) next time you pass me in the street, do please try to restrain a supercilious smirk. I know it's not "dignified" for old blokes like me to be sporting band badges. But tough. Strange though it may sound, these days I've got an enamel pin badge stuck in my heart. It's gauche, it's not cool, and it's even plain weird, but I like band badges again. And wearing a tiny tin disc on my person is helping me keep my mind free of breeding reptiles ...