The State of Rock and Roll
Rock's Not Gone, It’s Just Hiding from Millennials
It’s time to rock out with your cock fastened in chastity.
Recently, I was at the mall with my girlfriend. Since it’s in hospice, only three to four stores are worth bothering with. One of those stores is F.Y.E. We browsed the vinyls, we browsed the DVDs, and then we hit the CD’s - Audrey’s latest obsession since she’d just gotten a Discman. That’s when I saw it. I had to take this photo.
The third studio album by System Of A Down, “Steal This Album”, was the only CD locked behind one of these clunky anti theft cases, and aside from how ironic this is, it’s a great starting point to discuss Rock and Roll’s geriatric wandering.
But not in the way you might think.
There are countless articles that will regale you with scathing diatribes about how no one snorts ecstasy and screws minors anymore. To try to add on to that conversation is tiresome, especially because it would drown in a torrent of Gen-X’rs wondering why no one blasts Mötley Crüe from their Trans-Am’s like they used to.
The irony in this image does not serve to accentuate Rock’s funeral.
Quite the opposite.
It’s still very much alive, and very much taken seriously.
While it’s been a while since a rock song has gotten an all station marathon, if you’re willing to go out to look for it, it’s still there. Underground venues still push newer bands, and newer bands have more resources now than ever before to push their music, even if it means committing ritual sacrifice to earn a dime off streaming.
My two favorite examples of this are the Yours Not Mine EP by Trashed and Off The Grid by Sweet Orange. The former is hard, ripping rock with self-loathing, cheeky lyrics, and the latter calls back to an early Bad Religion/Green Day/Blink-182 sound profile. Beyond that, I’m willing to bet there are dozens of local bands in your city or near it that are still bending the strings and writing songs about how bored they are of masturbation.
In spirit, it’s alive and kicking. So one has to question why it is that, in an age where shocking tag-lines like “WHO ATE ALL THE PUSSY?” are scribbled onto t-shirts, where Rick and Morty are smoking a joint on every mall kiosk poster, and where bands have evolved from music producers to full on brands in their own rights, F.Y.E would make the decision to put “Steal This Album” behind a case that sets off the alarm if you stick it in your waistband.
Some say the sun is setting on Whisky-A-Go-Go, CBGB, and all their bastard stepchildren. But Rock’s decline isn’t what killed my local haunt, Ollie’s—it was shitty management mixed with sexual harassment by the loyal patrons. The idea that started it all?
Evidently, that’s still here, and there is a level of awareness, perhaps even fear, that propels this company to recognize that some may oblige the request. To go as far as to lock up that album on CD in the streaming age shows that it could cross the average Joe’s mind, it could resonate, and they don’t want to risk it.
Hell, I considered it.
But Audrey, in her infinite wisdom, pulled me across the store to look at the “Death before Decaf” socks, and like that the spirit left me. Perhaps it was waiting for someone with bigger balls and less to lose. In the end, the only thing I came away with was that the company was afraid of that rocking casket.
Rebellion is still alive. I want to capture it in daily life as much as I can and share it.