Cold Showers’ I Don’t Mind is a goth Camaro speeding through the L.A. reservoirs at midnight. Lights off. The only sounds are the machine-made wind and the super-heated drone of a motor being pushed to its limits.
Because it’s goth like the Misfits were goth.
Like Creaming Jesus was goth.
Like how even the dirty, broken-glass-covered rock of Iggy & the Stooges was “goth” if you stared at it long enough.
It’s three-chord rock that’s short a couple of chords and long on the seductive power of all things black and soulless. It’s rock that stomps all over the stage, looking ticket holders directly in the eye and daring them to break free of societal restraints and whatever they’ve got at home/at work/in their past that holds them back from doing something. It’s black-hearted rock that dares you to punch it in its diabolically painted face and laughs when you give in to your baser urges.
Why a Camaro?
Because it’s muscle without pretension. An American-made sheet metal rocket with an underperforming muffler, mismatched rocker panels, a meth lab in the trunk and a shotgun in the glove compartment.* If you want speed, you’ll get it without having to worry about scuffing up the faux hardwood finish or spilling beer all over the optional leather package. It’s just efficient danger, packaged in a damn near indestructible (but sharply edged) roll cage.**
Beyond all the stage posturing and Suicide conventions, it’s just purely and simply a fucking kickass blast of cathartic rock that reminds you that good things (with bad intentions) still manage to make it out of L.A. somewhat intact. It’s what the West Coast occasionally gives back after swallowing generation after generation of Greyhounds filled with the Midwest’s collective thespian dreams.
*American sports cars are MUCH bigger than their European competitors. The most you can fit in the average Euro speedster’s glovebox is a Lady Dillinger.
**NOTE: DOES NOT PROVIDE PROTECTION DURING ROLLOVERS.