The goth styles of 20 years ago were quite charming. Pale faces, purple lipstick and fingerless gloves are very fetching on a slender young thing - even better if it's a girl.
But as one who occasionally finds himself in Whitby (where Dracula landed on Tate Hill sands) during a Goth Weekend, let me tell you it's a truly scary sight on an overweight, fortysomething mother of three. And I'm an overweight fortysomething myself.
The culture appears to be undergoing some kind of revival among those who like to express their individuality by dressing alike.
I wonder how many of this weekends attendees listen to the woman who was the essence of all things Gothic - the beautiful, doom-laden (and doomed) Nico, whose 'The End', 'Desertshore' and 'Marble Index' are as Gothick as they come. And looked at another way, extremely silly.
Janitor of lunacy
Paralyze my infancy
Petrify the empty cradle
Bring hope to them and me
Janitor of tyranny
Testify my vanity
Mortalize my memory
Deceive the Devil's deed
Tolerate my jealousy
Recognize the desperate need
Janitor of lunacy
Identify my destiny
Revive the living dream
Forgive their begging scream
Seal the giving of their seed
Disease the breathing grief
Well, yes. Haven't we all, in a very real sense, felt like that ?
I know I have.
Just as a good Goth should be, she's no longer with us. But what a voice.
