What Makes us Mad About The Band?

The 2nd of March was a Sunday and a rainy one at that. The BBC's weather prediction had it spot on: heavy showers, dark clouds and a shield of umbrellas arching over a three-street long queue. Outside Birmingham's HMV Institute, hysteria was already on the verge of breaking out as every few steps towards the entrance transformed into a oestrogen motivated race. No lights, crumbling concrete and a ribbon of litter stretching down the street, but nobody was deterred, despite the overarching health and safety issues cropping up here and there - at one point, I was sure I walked through somebody's bedroom set up right there on the street. Regular enthusiastic repetitious chants of 5 Seconds of Summer's songs erupted throughout the  long and gloomy wait in the miserable rain and having arrived an accidental three hours early, I wondered what it was that gave these girls an unwavering loyalty to their vocal chords.
Then I made it inside and I remembered.
Four saliva inducing Aussie's, with their sun-kissed skin, biceps and hair galore, graced the stage. I entered stage one of wishing that every girl, in what appeared to be the world, would remember their manners and stop hurling their body parts in all directions in a seeming attempt to crush me to death. Then these Aussie's began to play their instruments and quite frankly, I almost internally imploded.
It's been an ongoing thing since I was fourteen years old and felt a burning love for every man in a band; record label or no record label, pop or rock, personal hygiene wasn't really an issue either. I call it the Band Member Complex. They can be a completely normal nineteen year old boy with a copious amount of hair and an overriding ego one minute, and then the guitar comes out and they're suddenly a legitimate God wreaking havoc with my hormones. Quite clearly, I'm not the only one. Fifty years down the line and we're still going mad for The Beatles; Mick Jagger owned more pairs of knickers than I ever will in my life; One Direction get a hoard of girls watching their every single move on  a daily basis. What is it about boys in bands that makes girls melt into a pile of quivering steam? It's not often we see men sobbing on the front row of a Spice Girls concert, or following Little Mix to the nearest Asda, but almost every gig with a male lead can guarantee a female entourage dressed head-to-toe in teardrops and merchandise. 
It was only a couple of weeks ago that I got thinking about this when my friends turned to me with scrunched up brows and very seriously asked me "What is it with you and drummers?" After a string of um's and uh's, I couldn't give them an answer. After standing smack bang in the middle of a hysterical chant of "take it off, take it off," directed at a bass player, I still couldn't figure out why. And after watching three girls stalk their V.I.P asses out of the back doors in minimal clothing that night, I was clueless.
I've seen a lot of bizarre things in the past few years I've spent drooling over drummers, but it still fascinates me to see how utterly mindless these men send women. I read somewhere once that girls who obsessed over bands were the product of broken families, but I've met plenty of girls who go against this rule. Leaving me with no other alternative, there's only one explanation: the superior hair standards. Girls love curls.

Love From Storm x

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