Other music will happen, but no-one will be able to hear it. We’re looking very likely to see the release of Adele’s ‘30’ in 2020, which means that no other music will be discernible for at least two years. Through it all, of course, music will be there to ease the inevitable pain and chaos, but what will the decade bring? The immediate future we can be fairly certain of. Gasping at the craftmanship on your mutant overlord’s skull-bone spear. Gasping for air through the smoke from your own legs. Gasping for the last drops of drinkable water.
A better description of the 2020s might well be ‘gasping’. No, the ‘20s will only roar in the same way as an open fire does, with God warming his balls on the planet’s flames as he regales a selection of dinner party deities with witty anecdotes about the dumbass species he created when he was pissed. Also, it’s tough to Charleston underwater.
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They imagine a 10-year Great Gatsby speakeasy full of flapper girls and tuxedo-wearing charmers, but Brexit Britain is more likely to be a throwback to the Weimer Republic, with fascism on the rise, Poundland only affordable to the Islington elite and the rest of us bartering the juicier rats for opioids. They envisage a new decade of extravagance, glitz and decadence whereas, in truth, the 2020s are only going to resemble the 1920s in that you’ll have to sell a sibling for a blood transfusion and there’ll be a major fashion resurgence in wooden teeth. “It’s the roaring ‘20s!” yells everyone with the global political perspective of the average inhabitant of the Love Lift.
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