Do you trust me, Clive?

Well, what a wonderful way to end a wayward decade. My sister and I truly climbed upon the rock-rap 90's bandwagon of Rage Against the Machine and our unabridged pleasure at the prospers of our protest have left me quite giddy. Like a little girl creeping downstairs on Christmas morning- the glory, the splendour of seeing all the presents splayed out across the floor, the half-eaten carrot, the sherry devoured, the sooty boot marks on the carpet. Bliss.

Ay, music fans, I'm sure you share my joy. It's not that I am a massive RATM fan, I wouldn't go out of my way to see them live but I harbour an inextinguishable hatred for the X-Factor and everything related to it. Trips home to the Southside are bittered by the putrid stench of Cowell. I abhor it. I express my disgust at the monotony of modern day music making to my parents who, ashamed yet content, gaze at the telly-box with addicted helplessness like monkey's forced into cocaine. My Mother pleads 'I hate it, I just watch it for the laughs, promise.' Just like the rest of the nation then? I’m sure.

So imagine my utter delight when I found this group which was revolting against the bullshit, joining together the like-minded music-lovers of the late Noughties like something from our nostalgic sexual fantasies of yesteryear! The revolution had begun and I was taking part! I was standing hand-in-hand with those who just wouldn't take it no more more. No, they wouldn't take it no more. I ain't gonna stand idly by while the bridal reply of a marriage of styles is "Yeah, but what's their demographic?"

I ain't gonna take it no more.
I ain't gonna take it no more.
I ain't gonna stand idly by with a tut and a sigh while inside we all cry out for something new.

I ain't gonna take it no more.
I ain't gonna take it no more.
Soulless music, artless lyrics.
Goalless movements, heartless gimmicks.
Controlled and clueless, careers lasting a minute.
If this is the big life, well I ain't lookin' to live it.
We ain't pushing the boundaries, we're blowing them up.
We ain't trying to expand the scene, we want the scene to erupt.

Ay, Dan Le Sac VS Scroobius Pip knew what they were on about. Alas, if only we were revolting against war! Against poverty! Against racism! And not just against some grossly over paid high-waisted git called Simon who we have all chosen to demonise. Even so, we like to pretend that we play an active part in history, don’t we? Like we were there when the first plane hit, when the bus exploded, when the wave consumed, when the carpet was forcibly removed from under the Cowell’s feet. I was there! I've cut out the article to show my kids. Not that they will care or understand the sheer endlessness of my joy or how we won. How we did it. How my sister got whiplash moshing in our living-room to the live Radio1 coverage. Or how I made a video. Or how we told the man in Vue cinema about Christmas number 1 who really didn’t care at all.

Glory is mine, forever, amen. I have defeated this decade and all its horrors just by downloading a song titled, ‘Killing in the Name.’ So it's sort of apt then, really.