A rchive Date
[ 04-01-2004 ]
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[Packaged counterculture
By STEVE TILLEY
Edmonton Sun
August 7, 2000
Two young girls, their hair a flurry of fluorescent pink, are in the women's washroom at Commonwealth Stadium, preparing to unleash themselves upon the sights, sounds, smells and tastes (mostly of expensive pizza) that are Summersault. Suddenly, an older woman - presumably mom - says, "Are you sure you don't want your coats? In case it rains?"
Ah, summer rock festivals. A hotbed of youthful exuberance and rebellion. Except when mom, like, TOTALLY embarrasses you in front of, like, EVERYBODY.
With Summersault being the umpteenth (a number that comes just after plentieth) rock fest that's been held in the comfy confines of Commonwealth, regular attendees might notice that the only thing that changes from one to the next is that the packaging of nonconformity gets more and more slick with every outing. It's enough to make a guy kind of ... jaded?
This is no slight against the music, mind you. As I tap these words out, Dave Grohl is screaming himself hoarse in front of a throng of moshing Foo Fighter fans, and damn if it doesn't make for some awe-(swear word)-some energy. What the hell am I doing writing up here in the press box when I could be down there getting bruised and sweaty?
Summersault was supposed to be a bit of an x-factor this year, in a city that's used to doing either Edgefest or Lilith Fair sometime around now. But the differences between Summersault and Edgefest are virtually indistinguishable. Good bands, bad food, lineups for beer and the can, lots of exposed flesh.
But as is often the case, a stroll through the marketplace area of a rock festival is as good a barometer as any of the state of the nation. For instance, no fewer than three stands are selling colourful pipes - for use with, ahem, tobacco only, of course. Another stand is doing booming business giving people temporary hair dye jobs, for only $5 a pop. The jewelry booths sell nose rings you can use without piercings, and fake tattoos are as plentiful as water bottles hurled at the stage.
What does it mean when the signs of counterculture become so commonplace that you can buy imitations of them? Doesn't that mean it's time to move on to something new?
Kim Cossette and her partners, who had one of the busiest booths at Summersault, have hit upon the absolutely perfect product for today's disenfranchised youth - youth who still want to be able to go home to their suburban homes at night and not get a tongue-lashing from dad.
Cossette's company, ToBe, make a tongue ball that basically imitates a pierced tongue, without the dangers of piercing (remember that girl in Britain who lost a ton of blood when the piercer hit a vein in her tongue?) or the wrath of parents. The ball sticks to your tongue by suction - at some point you've probably done the same thing with the little stopper piece in the end of a Bic pen - and looks like the real deal.
"Your parents can't kill you because it's not real," says Cossette, who sold hundreds of the $10 silver balls yesterday.
That says something really profound, but my brain is in such a haze - it really has been a fun day, after all - that I can't quite pin it down. Something to do with how everybody is trying to be different by all being the same. Or maybe I'm just getting old, and the thought that I could enter Summersault and leave with a nose ring, pierced tongue, tattoo, hemp hat and wildly coloured hair (OK, maybe not that one) scares me, as it should scare anyone who really has these things. The uncool are storming the gates of the cool, and the walls are falling.
Oh, and for clarification, the girl's bathroom story was related to me by someone else. I may not be cool, but I'm not a pervert.
Steve Tilley can be reached by e-mail at steve@compusmart.ab.ca
 World Fact Book (CIA)]
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