Hell yeah!

Rock ‘n’ Roll generation beating the pavement with their army boots and leather jackets. Raised with AC-DC or Metallica in their milk, they grew up eager of loud music, guitar solos and powerful riffs. Some of them took part in a band once, with more or less success. Their hairstyle a finger in the face of conformism, their dress-code an arm raised against aristocracy. They wake up with Rage Against The Machine in the morning, have some cereal and go to college. In their I-Pods, Marilyn Manson or Prodigy, their head tilting on the way to class.

They say they’ll raise their kids just the same. But we all know that they won’t. Not exactly the same. Their parents listened to Queen and Police, Dire Straits or Led Zeppelin, they were not hard rock fans. Who knows what the future of rock might be? Band members nowadays are ever younger, the labels betting on the fashion effect, the easy beats and romantic lyrics. Let’s hope that our children will have some anger, some rage to put in lyrics, that electric guitars and drums and the sweet sound of blues will cuddle them into their youth.

They march the streets, in rows of ten, their hands high in the sky, chanting along the way their favourite songs. They wish they could have been born when Pink Floyd was in their bloom, in the music shops the new records were “Stairway To Heaven” or “Light My Fire”, when at the movies you could get a glimpse of the brand new “The Wall” or the amazing movie “More”. These people scream at the top of their lungs, claiming for the future a continuum of rock music, celebration of life through rough beats and twenty minutes blues intros.

When James Brown or Jerry Lee Lewis roamed this planet, rock music was a blossom in the grass, now that it’s grown colorful and full of perfume, let’s try not to see it disappear white we still breathe. Let’s raise our arms wherever we are: int he shower listening to the radio, in a concert hall, at work, in our car. Bang your heads, turn up the volume.