by Ben Pobjie
Tunesters tend to be monogamous – most of them will mate with one particular genre of music for life. This is another way of telling a Tunester from an ordinary music-loving Bloke; in extreme cases, the Tunester’s monogamy will extend to his wearing gloves in JB Hi-Fi, in case he accidentally touches an Elton John CD while looking for Rammstein. Although this single-mindedness can be tiresome, it can also be helpful for Blokeologists as it makes it easier to separate Tunesters into recognisable categories. There is a certain strain of Tunester who are more omnivorous in their tastes, but they are inevitably shunned by larger Tunester society and forced to take jobs as music critics for major daily newspapers.
When making contact with a Tunester, it is important to keep in mind that he will at all times defend his preferred genre of music to the death, much as a mother bear defends her cubs. The ferocity of a fully-fledged Tunester defence is something to behold, and few people have managed to escape from one without, at the very least, a thorough drenching in spittle. For this reason, it is wise to try to avoid such discussions, since anything that could be construed as a criticism, an unfavourable comparison, an unflattering pun, or a mild general observation will be met with utter Tunester savagery. It’s best to discuss mutually hated genres, as a Tunester will instantly bond with anyone claiming to hate the same music that he does. Should you wish to play it even safer, avoid music altogether and choose a non-musical topic of conversation. This is ideal as the Tunester, knowing nothing about the topic, will quickly get bored and leave you alone.
Despite the tendency for fierce defensive behaviour, as a rule the Tunester is not an aggressive Bloke, just an annoying one.
It is often assumed that musicians occupy the uppermost place in the Tunester hierarchy, but the truth is somewhat more complicated. Tunester societies are organised into three broad but distinct strata, which can be best described as: Musician, Non-Musician, and I’m Starting A Band With Some Friends.
Whereas Musicians are akin to nobility in Tunester communities, Non-Musicians represent more of a priestly class, not least because, like priests, Non-Musician Tunesters are forbidden to breed – although unlike priests, the forbidding in this case is typically done by women. Musicians and Non-Musicians often have an uneasy yet symbiotic relationship: they each need the other, but Musicians tend to regard Non-Musicians’ failure to actually engage in a musical career with some scorn, while Non-Musicians think Musicians don’t take music seriously enough and have too much sex.
The third category, I’m Starting A Band With Some Friends, is made up of those Tunesters who have made the effort to learn three chords and buy an electronic tuner, but find their development arrested by what modern Tunester scholars believe is most likely a defective gene. ISABWSFs can be easily recognised by their chronic fatigue, habit of sitting under trees singing to girls, and plaintive mating call of: ‘We just need a drummer and then we’ll be set’.
For those who wish to see Tunesters in the wild, they are not difficult to find – Tunesters can frequently be seen at outdoor festivals, in indie record stores, at inner-city pubs, and hosting community radio programmes. Tunesters tend to speak in any one of a range of idiosyncratic Tunish dialects, which can help to identify them in the wild; a good sign that a Tunester is nearby is the sound of one or more of the following terms d’art:
Dubstep
Breakcore
Electroclash
Screamo
Screamocore
Electrostep
Dubcore
Electroscream
Breakstep
Electrobreakstepcoredub
Dubbreak
Stepscream
Augmented ninth
Regina Spektor
Many Tunesters have attained prominent positions within Australian society. Notable Australian Tunesters of the past include Ian ‘Molly’ Meldrum, who was the first to establish the principle that a committed Tunester should try not to be too aware of what is going on in his immediate vicinity; Johnny Young, who attracted some criticism for what was seen as his determination to ‘recruit’ children to be artificially converted into Tunesters; and Peter Sculthorpe, who is technically known as an Advanced Level Eight Tunester, or ‘Show-off’. Many people consider Richard Wilkins to be a Tunester, but this is incorrect, as his bone structure and genome reveal him to be, in fact, a Fauxke – albeit one with a remarkable ability to mimic Tunester behaviour. John Farnham might also be a Tunester, but no human has ever been able to get close enough to check.
As mentioned earlier, the Tunester comes in a wide variety of strains, or ‘genres’, each one possessing its own appearance and customs laid down upon the Tunester template. Some of the most prominent of these strains include:
The Greater Doofer, or Common Beepum. This is a breed of Tunester that has only recently been identified, but which has spread with remarkable speed. Frequently characterised by his short, spiky, colourful plumage, the Greater Doofer has aroused much controversy between different schools of Tunester study, with conventional scholarship holding him to be a radically modern, but genuine and worthy addition to Tunester taxonomy, while more traditional hold-outs maintain that Doofers cannot be allowed to be included in Tunester studies, as what they listen to is not, technically, music. This book accepts the majority position on this matter, while allowing for future developments which may see the Greater Doofer excluded.
The music preferred by the Doofer is indeed of an unusual kind, consisting mainly of thumps and squelches overlaid with sirens, honks and squealing beepy noises. In some cases, these sounds are punctuated by shouting robots, but this is by no means necessary. Although some have dismissed Doofer music as soulless electronic noise, a more sophisticated examination demonstrates that Doofers, in fact, are the progenitors of a modern kind of gospel music, as evidenced by the centrepiece of Doofer culture: the ‘rave’. A rave is a ritual where Doofers will gather in a dark room, play their music, and jerk and vibrate their bodies uncontrollably until dawn, often while wearing ceremonial dress such as dinosaur spines or angel wings to venerate the First Doofers, who, according to legend, came out of the sun in the morning of the world, dressed as dinosaurs and angels, and created the first drum machine out of clay. At these raves, Doofers will also carry out their own version of Holy Communion, partaking of the ‘body’ of the First Doofers in the form of a small pill, and their ‘blood’ in the form of a $5.50 bottle of water. It is speculated that these pills may enhance the experience of a rave somewhat by making the music sound like music, but this is unconfirmed by experiments.
The Greater Doofer is among the friendliest and most gregarious of Blokes, and will often hug complete strangers, even when they don’t want him to.
The closest relative of the Greater Doofer is the Lesser Doofer. The Lesser Doofer is exactly the same as the Greater Doofer except he’s not brave enough to actually go to raves. Sometimes the Lesser Doofer will compensate for this by adding more spikes to his head.
A very different, yet actually closely related Tunester is the Crested Kerrang, one of the most easily identifiable Tunesters thanks to his enormous shaggy mane, which may or may not be accessorised with a wild beard. Clad in black, and frequently adorned with tribal markings and various pieces of metal, the Kerrang can be a fearsome sight as he stalks the streets in search of Flying V guitars and Jack Daniel’s, but like a charging gorilla, this intimidating appearance is mainly for show – the Crested Kerrang is actually a gentle, slow-moving giant of the Bloke world, whose bestial grunts and snarls while in the throes of speed metal are offset by the common appearance of gushing tears when exposed to power ballads.
Unlike the Doofers, Kerrangs are deeply suspicious of any music made with computers, and of any T-shirt that isn’t black. They have much in common with the common Bogan, but are more artistic, less concerned with cars, and happier to declare an affiliation with Satan. The Kerrang’s musical tastes run mainly to those musicians who give the appearance of attempting to murder
their instruments, and whose vocals either resemble a teenage girl being chased by a ghost, or Cookie Monster. Kerrangs often project an outward appearance of extreme and antisocial anger, and the source of this anger was a fertile field of academic study until the Hetfield van der Schlegelstein experiments of the mid-80s established that, mainly, they were angry at not being considered angry enough. When a Kerrang reaches a state of high emotion, he will attempt to release the build-up of pressure in his system by violently flinging his head back and forth. This is known as ‘headbanging’ and can go on for hours, until all the feelings are gone.
The origins of Kerrangism remain a mystery, although there is some evidence that, at a crucial point in foetal development, the non-activation of a particular gene can turn a potential Kerrang into a Goth. What causes this gene to fail to activate is unknown, though many people blame the fluoridation of the water supply.
The Crested Kerrang naturally has an intense disdain for all other types of music, but paradoxically often indulges in music that, at first glance, seems to be entirely outside the conventional Kerrang parameters. Thirty years ago, it was discovered that Kerrangs were willing to sit quietly and listen with rapt attention to songs incorporating pianos and strings, about love and barely featuring the word ‘blood’ at all. This baffled researchers until they uncovered two crucial facts:
Musical divergence in Kerrang society is acceptable as long as the music is being played by a man with sufficiently long hair; and,
The exhausting nature of Kerrang lifestyles necessitates the occasional breather, or ‘ballad’, so as to not overheat the Kerrang system, which is already sorely taxed what with all the hair and the black clothing. These slower, softer moments allow Kerrangs to ‘recharge the batteries’, like a sort of heavy-metal catnap.
Kerrangs are among the easiest of Blokes to mistake for a different species. The best way to positively identify one is to walk up to him and say ‘hello’ in a soft voice. If he can’t hear you, he is a Kerrang – the mature Kerrang’s ears will usually be far too damaged to hear anything softer than a scream.
Bearing some superficial similarities to the Crested Kerrang, but with vast differences in behaviour and culture, is the Unkempt Strummer. The crest of the typical Strummer will often resemble that of the Kerrang in length and degree of tangle – although the Kerrang tends to wash his from time to time – but there is a greater variation in the rest of the plumage and markings. The Strummer will rarely wear black jeans, for instance, preferring faded blue ones that look like they’ve spent twenty years in a haystack, or something indescribable from an op-shop. In fact, the op-shop may be considered the conventional nesting place of the Unkempt Strummer, and most experts believe it was from op-shops that Strummers first emerged, crawling from the primordial ooze behind the rack of brown skivvies. Today, when not nesting, Strummers like to roam open spaces, ‘chilling’ in the more quiet, contemplative areas of rock festivals, or wandering along country roads, usually with a guitar slung over their shoulder and a grimy, ancient backpack to keep their iPad in.
The Strummer is perhaps the most mellow of Tunesters, lacking the chemical energy of the Doofer or the growling menace of the Kerrang, and instead pursuing a sort of peaceful blissed-out benevolence that really gets on everyone’s nerves after a while. Probably more than any other Tunester, the Strummer believes that music really can change the world, as long as it is twiddly acoustic guitar music with hoarse vocals. The reason this music will change the world more than any other kind of music is that it is authentic; authenticity is extremely important to all Tunesters, and Strummers in particular pursue authenticity with a passion that is as relentless as it is smelly.
Eschewing corporatism, processed foods, brand names, shampoo and soap, Strummers seek to unite us rather than divide us, which is ironic given how effectively they can disperse a crowd with their distinctive smell. A perfect embodiment of the stirring belief that all a man needs is a guitar, a dream, and some sandals, the Unkempt Strummer gives hopes to all dirty-haired dreamers that someday they too can hit the ‘open road’ and live a life free from regret and employment.
Occasionally a Strummer will strike a chord with the wider public (N.B. If you ever meet a Tunester, make a joke about striking a chord – they’ll think it’s hilarious, because of music and everything) and find himself with an actual career and money. This does not mean, of course, he will abandon his Strummer lifestyle – he will still smoke weed.
Less likely to smoke weed or promote peace and love is one of the more virulent strains of Tunester: the Furiouscore. Unlike the Kerrang, with whom he shares some common lineage, the Furiouscore’s anger is no act – he genuinely does hate pretty much everything, which is why he enjoys music about people hating pretty much everything. The Furiouscore is filled with an inner rage that can only be expressed through screaming at the top of his lungs in a room full of people also screaming at the top of their lungs, and some musical instruments being almost played. Furiouscores are notable for their scowls, their rudeness to other human beings, and their steadfast refusal to even tentatively concede the merits of music with tunes or comprehensible lyrics. This kind of principled stand is at the heart of the Furiouscore personality – no other Bloke has as much integrity for so little purpose.
While many Tunester breeds make use of mind-altering substances – from the communion pills of the Doofer to the grass of the Strummer – these hold little appeal for most Furiouscores. Indeed, many subspecies of Furiouscore reject such substances altogether, dedicating themselves to an ascetic lifestyle wherein their bodies are worshipped as temples and they refrain from temptations such as alcohol or drugs or senses of humour. These subspecies are known as ‘straight-edge’ after the rulers they use to measure their penises each night.
Other subspecies do partake of the odd tipple, but mostly just as an excuse to have a bottle to smash in their faces. Whatever the individual Furiouscore’s attitude to such refreshments, however, they are always incidental to the Furiouscore lifestyle, which is all about howling with rage at the injustice of the world and capitalism or something.
Unlike those Tunesters who enjoy wide open spaces or large barns in which to indulge their Tunesterism, Furiouscores prefer small, enclosed, sweaty spaces. In fact, Furiouscorism has been diagnosed by some medical professionals as an extremely loud form of agoraphobia, and some biologists believe Furiouscores may share common ancestry with moles in their seemingly innate need to find tiny burrows in which to secrete themselves. Oddly, though in many ways the least social of Tunesters, Furiouscores have a greater need to press tightly up against other people, and often seem lost and disorientated when they can feel fresh air on their skins.
Like most Tunesters, Furiouscores are not averse to the tattooist’s needle, but generally eschew inspirational Japanese characters and naked women with snakes for angry denunciations of social mores and political elites, or expressions of deeply felt angst like ‘Frig the System’ or ‘I Feel Out of Sorts’.
Apart from the obvious matter of being a shorter-haired variety in comparison to other superficially similar Tunesters like the Kerrang, the Furiouscore also stands out because of his intense dislike of wherever he happens to be. Many people, in fact, would reject the Furiouscore’s claim to be a Bloke given his pronounced lack of patriotism, but this overlooks the fact that a common trait within the Bloke kingdom is what might be termed ‘anti-Blokeism’. In the case of Furiouscores, hating their country and the shackles it imposes is a big part of their identity; if they were anywhere else, they’d hate it just as much, but it’s best not to mention this to them as they may headbutt you or make you listen to Black Flag.
Furiouscores also tend to have an intense dislike of other Tunesters, especially the Unkempt Strummer – if forced to spend any length of time in the company of a Strummer, most Furiouscores will quickly resort to violence.
Like all Tunesters, the Furiouscore’s taste in music dictates their behaviour in other areas o
f life, including table manners, conversation, and sexual intercourse, which for the Furiouscore resembles nothing so much as a jackhammer with a grudge. Effective and yet not exactly joyous, their approach to mating stands in stark contrast to the light-headed rhythms of the Greater Doofer, the wild abandon of the Kerrang, the meditative gradualism of the Strummer, or even the rarely seen atonal minimalist pumping of the now critically endangered Tunester species, the Vested Glassblower.
It can be seen from these examples just how divided the various Tunester breeds are, and in many ways this is a shame. It is inherent in the Tunester’s nature to be suspicious and often hostile towards other Tunesters, and so the Tunester community finds itself unable to band together against the outside world, which tends to find all breeds equally aggravating. However, the Tunester fills an important niche in Bloke society, and, as a broadly peace-loving Bloke, can usually be relied upon to provide soothing words, comforting tunes and possibly some trivia about the Velvet Underground if it’s needed. Tunesters are often not the ‘Blokiest’ of Blokes, but they are full-blooded Blokes nonetheless, and a beautiful part of the rich tapestry of Blokedom. They bring music into our hearts, whether we want them to or not, and we would be poorer without them.
BLOKEFACTS!
Did you know … the 2003 Bloke census determined that the five most common Bloke occupations were auto mechanic, plumber, gardener, website designer, and parliamentary whip.
Artists
The Artist is an unusual Bloke, and one who has been the subject of much intense study, even furious debate, among experts. Combining many elements from other species, particularly Snags and Tunesters, in the past, the Artist has been considered by some Blokeologists to not even be a separate species, but rather a random mutation. However, the accumulation of reliable studies showing the size and breadth of Artist populations, together with anthropological surveys demonstrating the uniqueness and undeniable richness of Artist culture, are convincing proof of definitive speciation. There is also no doubt that they share a common ancestor with the Snag and the Tunester, and their similarities allow the species to mix together freely in a social context and lend each other books.