Rock Rage

Rage, rebellion and Rock seem to fit together. Gone were Happy Days and the Mamas & Pappas.

As soon as we got color television, it were as if innocence had vanished along with the Black- and- White TV sets.

Rage against the machine. Against materialism and modernity.

Against the wind (symbolically speaking).

Rock, or stone, needs to roll. Rolling Stone.

Born to run. Like Einstein’s line, life is like riding a bicycle, so you need to keep moving to keep your balance.

Free one self up. Free against the very notion of freedom as articulated by either side to appease donors.

Rock stays neutral, always on the run like gypsies.

In but not of the system, yet itself turns into a religion. And an expansive at that at Hard Rock Cafe.

Like Charlie Chaplin who finally got inducted into Knighthood, Rock and rollers first need to dress the part i.e. tatoo, nose rings, a lot metallic, and key chain. High maintenance.

Rock cannot go off grid, even though its essence is against it.

Plug in.

One and two. Testing.

Sure mike and Yamaha instruments, Bose speakers and Marlboro.

Big names, big bucks and big sponsors.

Can’t go against the grain.

Can’t do with it, or without it.

Money or love?

Man or woman?

Rage on, cry on. Heartbreak and headache.

Bring down the house and with it, ourselves.

Yet Rock lives on. Always with new “buyers.”

New converts, new sacrificial lambs.

New groups and groupies.

New lyrics and looks, with new rhythm and refrain.

Same 7 notes, but in different style and sensuality.

And the Reason is You.

No more Beach Boys, only Bad Boys.

You gotta have it, and have it yesterday.

There is no time as it used to be.

Hotel California, you can check in but can’t check out.

Turn on the machine, and it needs to be fed, with new meat and new sacrifice.

Rage for rage’s sakes is OK too.

Just hit the right notes. Turn up the volume. And shake those hair.

Adrenaline will take over and take care of the rest.

Rage on. Rock rage.


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