Rollins Review

Rollicking Rollins: The Punk Icon Who Became A Tree-Hugger 

 

                                      Photograph: www.streetteaminterviews.com

Sitting captive in a theatre chair while a tattooed, militaristic, 51-year-old former punk rocker delivers a 150-minute monologue hardly sounds like a fun way to end the week. But, at Sydney's Seymour Centre last night, Henry Rollins proved in a captivating spoken word show there was a whole lot more in his armoury than boring old rock icon status.

It was remarkable to hear Rollins' reflective embarrassment at his almost maniacal, yet undeniably popular, efforts as front man of Black Flag and, later, the Rollins Band. But throughout his unyielding marathon show - not once did he break or wet his palate - he personified how time can transform chaotic fury into an exemplary and brilliantly articulated form of masculinity.

For 30 years Rollins’ performances had a transcendental quality, as he would thrash his athletic torso around the stage, one leg outstretched as if warming up for a match, swinging his head around with force matching the cacophonous music behind him. Whatever the audience, Rollins always unloaded 100 per cent. His legend was built on power and energy. He showed similar qualities last night, thankfully without the head thrashing madness.

Previously, Rollins was driven by a deep spring of anger (he never made a secret of his hatred for his homophobic and racist father – nor did he last night). However, he showed that, like the tattoos, the overt fury might have faded, but the raw and rare quality remains, encased by an engrossing brand of compassion, consideration and social justice. This, presented by an unlikely protagonist, with chiselled jaw, Marine-like buzz cut, and all black attire. The get-up might have been misleading to the uninitiated, but the words oozed manly assuredness and preached love for each other, the earth and for ourselves.

I admit that in the early 1990s I would invest in Rollins’ message of self-loathing, distrust and frustration. It was a decade of despair and, like Kurt Cobain, millions of twenty-somethings, myself included, just couldn't make sense of it all. Rollins spoke directly to me, sharing my confusion and disdain.

These days, however, - much like myself, I prefer to think - Rollins' introspection has been replaced by an outward-looking analysis of our complex world. His tales of being ushered to Kim Il-Sung’s tomb in Pyong Yang, eating rats’ livers in India and wrestling alligators in the Florida Everglades were light. But it was his argument about the usefulness of the charity he supports, Drop in the Bucket - which builds water wells in Africa – that revealed the basis of Rollins’ philosophy of liberalism and humanism.

After explaining the disputes, corruption and power plays that can be prompted by the seemingly innocuous practise of installing wells, Rollins pointed out how access to water works for the betterment of women. He argued that, once girls start menstruating, they need access to clean water to “attend to themselves”. However, in many schools in Africa, there is no water available for young girls to do so. Many, he claimed, leave school to avoid the embarrassment caused by lack of appropriate hygiene. It’s was simple hypothesis. Yet, in keeping with Rollins’ style, it was typically forthright and worthwhile.

Photograph: www.afistfulofculture.com

Rollins’ care for women may stem from a hatred of misogynism as much as an innate sense of decency. At times last night he admitted to “manly urges” (including a long and unpleasant story about trying to masturbate while recouperating in a hospital). However, he backed up such stories with examples of a steely determination to promote basic rights equally to the sexes.

His tale about an email he once received from a young virgin girl could have taken a nasty turn, but again showed Rollins’ impressive humanity. The girl had sent five naked photos of herself and asked if he thought any boy would ever find her attractive. Rather than succumb to base instincts, Rollins chose to analyse why the girl sent the message. He concluded that the internet, while providing an unprecedented level of interconnectedness, had also left a generation feeling lonely and disconnected. There was no answer to this girl’s question on the internet, he explained. She needed caring interaction with a family member, someone who could give her candid and confidential advice.

The girl's loneliness, Rollins said, was proved by her wild misjudgement in sending naked pictures to a 51-year-old man. Rollins’ first piece of advice to the girl was never to send naked pictures of herself over the internet again. His second offering was that she would have so many people asking her out, hitting on her, "trying to get to her vag" over the next several years that she will become bored with it all. It was fair, pointed, humorous, a little shocking but eminently thoughtful. It was Rollins all in one.

None of the passion or energetic masculinity has gone missing. It's just that it is no longer shrouded by raging lyrics, frantic delivery and blaring music. Instead, the embellishments have been completely stripped back. Only a microphone and a spotlight remain. The speaker is a man closer to peace with himself and the world than many might have ever thought possible. And, last night, he was a man at peace with a thankful audience.