MANROCK is the essence of the word “MAN” in the noun: MIDDLE-AGED MAN.
Capitalisation was required; I actually think it’s an old law.
Justin Hawkins once announced that he invented MANROCK. Did he shite. MANROCK was not invented; MANROCK was discovered. Justin was born down the road from me. He was born in Lowestoft, the most easterly point in the UK. I was born in Great Yarmouth, the second most easterly point in the UK. He was the first person from East Anglia to refrain from marrying a relative. Hopefully, I’ll be second. The bastard is always one step ahead of me! He even got himself a heroin addiction first, but he can keep that one (Jackman: bitch).
In all fairness, The Darkness were a damn good band, but no-way in hell did they invent MANROCK, although, in my opinion, they are MANROCK. As I said, MANROCK was discovered and it’s something that can only be appreciated once a man reaches a certain age. For me, I can pinpoint the exact date: April 24th 2005, my 25th birthday. As everyone knows, at twenty-five, an adult male has had 95% of their fun quota and, luckily, this is when MANROCK finds us, bringing with it the other 5%, as well as a hairy back. A lot of men have to reach middle-age before allowing themselves to be consumed by the wonders. Why fight it? If you’re over 25 and still listening to Radio 1, who are you trying to kid, mate. Let go. Give in to your anger and your hate. Accept you aren’t going to have decent sex anymore. Construct a shed.
For me, it hit home when Father’s Day came round. I’m not a dad, but for a few weeks leading up to the event, loads of music compilations are advertised, consisting of Whitesnake, Motorhead, Queen, Mr. Mister, The Who, and the like. Normally, these adverts would not even register, but after I passed twenty-five years of age, these compilations became the greatest objects of entertainment in legal Western society. They’re bloody brilliant. I immediately went out and brought myself “THE BEST DAD ALBUM RELEASED THIS YEAR… EVER… HONEST,” I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, XII, XIII, XIV, XV and XVI. Admittedly, I spent £735.67 on sixteen copies of Bohemian Rhapsody, Here I Go Again, Purple Rain and Free Bird, but I was happy. So unbelievably miserable happy.
So now you know what MANROCK is, and you know it was discovered, not invented. The next question is: when was MANROCK discovered? A very good question, indeed. Making it up as I go along, discovering MANROCK would almost certainly happened around caveman times. There is no way to pin-point this, but there would have been an incident involving some young cavewomen, an over-the-hill caveman who had indulged in a few too-many fermenting apples, some pre-historic musical device that was being played with a bit more beef than normal, and a resulting embarassing situation ending in the caveman looking like a prick.
MANROCK: it happened to me. How did it happen to you? If you’re over 25 and you haven’t felt the pull, don’t worry, you are almost certainly one of those newfangled homosexuals, I saw, on that new television station, Channel 4. That aside, discovering MANROCK, signing up for a mortgage; getting married; stamping on a Black & Decker work-mate repeatedly until your foot bleeds; developing piles and hate are what being a man is all about.
You may think that I am being pessimistic, but I’m not. With the exception of the piles, finding MANROCK is a wonderful experience. You have something new. You have something as powerful as it is wonderful, and that will stay with you until your joints need replacing.
You have MANROCK.
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