Johnny Marr will be 50-years-old this Halloween. The great thing about white guys with guitars of this age is that they get admirably stuck in their ways. They refuse to accept that the kind of music they were making as lads ever went out of fashion, or needed upgrading in any way. They also refuse to accept that there is a new way to make music videos, belligerently insisting that their output still be shot on tape and presented in the 4:3 standard television ratio, ignoring the fact that every household in the modern world now has very thin and horizontally elongated plasma screens that hang on walls. The best thing about white men of this age is that due to the fact they are so obstinate, and perhaps not even realising it, they actually get to release songs that suddenly sound deliberately vintage, fooling us into thinking that this must be a new kind of sound and image intentionally at odds with the homogenised pop scene of now. They suddenly become pioneers and, for a spell, make everything else out there sound incredibly not as good as what they’re putting out.
Inasmuch, comparable women of Marr’s age insist on aping current pop trends and trying to pass themselves off as still relevant (Madonna and J-Lo come to mind), old British white men can’t be bothered with any of that, insisting that you take them as they are.
Marr still looks fabulous for a middle-aged bloke from Manchester, but he will tell you that his mulishness and strict vegan diet ensures he remains perennially brilliant in every way possible. And look, he doesn’t even need to get any tattoos to be cool. What a solid role model for all aspiring middle-aged white guys everywhere.