Nashville Music Blog

Last night was week three of my bowling league, which may or may not include certain other members of the Scene staff. (I got off to a slow start but managed to roll a 614 series, if that means anything to you.)

As I walked out the doors of the bowling alley, I saw three young men smoking cigarettes. Two of them looked familiar, but I couldn't place them. When I got in the car, I realized the dudes were all members of Paramore. This impressed me because it was the third week in a row that dudes in prominent bands made an appearance at the lanes. Week one: Jared Reynolds (Ben Folds). Week two: Jack Lawrence (The Raconteurs). And now a gaggle of million-sellers. The way things are going, I'm bound to see Robert Plant hittin' the pocket on lane 24 by the time this here league comes to an end.

But I wondered: Why this heavy concentration of dudes-who-rock-ness at the home of the seven-ten split?

Just as bowling once had its place as a bastion of American masculinity, it has since taken up a particular place in American kitsch--see Kingpin, The Big Lebowski, etc. I mean, just look at Pete Weber: When manliness is that unironic it becomes instantly ironic, the serpent of hipster self-awareness eats its own tail, the universe collapses into a pendant around the neck of a cat, and so forth. But, like sexy and the moustache, it's made a comeback.

Sure, good ol' unexamined masculinity has always gotten a lot of play in the military and contact sports realms, but really, where is unabashed dudeliness still honored in our culture? That's right: bowling alleys and rock clubs. Just as any player who's ever flaunted their guitarection at the end of a sweet power slide will tell you, the instruments of rock are phallic projections of your yang. (Or, if you prefer, your wang.) And bowling is all about dominating with your big balls. So, it's no wonder that rockin' and rollin' go together like, well, rockin' and rollin'.