Are you read to ROCK!
Let's see . . . After careful review of my schedule, I'm pretty sure I can
commit to a solid hour of rocking. But before we commence with the rhythmic
abandonment, I should warn you that rocking all night is out of the question.
My schedule is just too insane right now. Maybe if something opens up in the
March/April timeframe, we can really let loose and rock all night, but not
now. Oh, did I tell you about that meeting I had with Larry from Accounts
Receivable?
Does that sound like you? Do you find yourself at the crossroads of hip and
hip replacement? If so, you may be suffering from Rapidly Aging Rocker Syndrome
(RARS). RARS is a little-known degenerative disease that slowly destroys the
brain's ability to stop wearing its favorite Iron Maiden t-shirt. The condition was
discovered in the late 70's by Dr. F. Plotkin during his groundbreaking study of velvet paintings of big-eyed clowns. Now,
twenty years - and way too many Rolling Stones tours - later, RARS is
finally receiving attention from the scientific community.
For rock fans, the first symptom of RARS can be vague feelings of nostalgia for
Eddie Money or the purchase of KISS memorabilia on the Home Shopping
Network. For the professional rock musician, the condition can manifest itself
as creative stasis or an over-reliance on dry ice and back-up singers. For all
RARS sufferers, the onset can come without warning: One minute
you are skating the edge of the eternal-now, buoyed by youth and an unerring
ability to simultaneously set and follow trends, and the next moment you are
at some Chinese restaurant, nursing a Bud
Lite while the portly lead singer of a Queen tribute band huffs and puffs his
way through "Bohemian Rhapsody."
Noted philosopher Muddy Waters once said "the blues had a baby and they named
it rock and roll." Well, I'm afraid the latest research suggests "rock and
roll married late, never had children, and has moved to a retirement community
somewhere in Florida."
Before cranky Metallica fans rise up from their leopard skin
Barcaloungers and storm the Bastille/Centrum, allow me to clarify: At its
genetic level, rock and roll has lost none of its validity. There will always
be a need for beautiful amplified chaos. Also, the "rapidly aging" part of
RARS is not a hard and fast rule. After all, you can still clear a room of
self-professed free-thinkers with a minute of two of Captain Beefheart's
Trout Mask Replica, and that particular slice of muenster has been aging
for over two decades. Oddly enough, the age of the listener also appears to
be irrelevant. Anyone who's sampled the day-old Alanis Morissette loaf from
the college buffet table will surely agree that creeping conservatism is not
reserved solely for middle-aged lawn tractor enthusiasts.
Despite this gloomy scenario, there are a couple of things we can all do to
reduce RARS. Consumers of high decibel wonderment, whether pre-pubescent or
post-hair replacement, are advised to seek out local music and ignore the
pre-fab market-driven compost served up by the likes of MTV. Rock musicians,
especially those entering their Grecian Formula Years, can help the cause by
setting aside the simulated teenage angst and outdated spandex pants in favor
of honest lyrical content that relates to their present life experience (e.g.,
Lou Reed in full leather crooning about denture cream and early bird dinner
specials).
Call me a dreamer, but I'm convinced that if we all pull together we can
build a better world where the following eight words, taken verbatim from
today's newspaper, are no longer possible (please look away if you have a
heart condition): Tommy Hilfiger and VH-1 presents The Rolling Stones! I'm
sorry you had to read that . . . let's just chalk it up to tough love. OK -
let's rock!
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