Rock n Roll is Here to Stay – Fiction

Rock n Roll is Here to Stay

by Scott Hefflon (aka Grr Boy)

Introduction to nothing in particular. A confession. A testament. A space filler.

“Rock ‘n’ roll is here to stay/It will never die.”

Prophetic words that are vague enough to be timeless. It all depends on what you call rock ‘n’ roll. For those of the blues rock swagger background, it was bastardized by cash-in late comers with hairspray, makeup, and bikini-clad bimbos dangling from each and every appendage in tattoo-soaked photos sent out to every garish and glossy Hit Parader poster pinup bopper magazine during the late ’80’s (shiver). Yes, many a suburban male’s fantasy of tattoos, long hair, booze, and babes was founded on the “interviews” filled with car crashes and bar room brawls. We wore parachute pants and white high-topped sneakers.

We matured into Metallica patches on jean jackets and got ugly and dirty. (That was pre-grunge. We wore flannel ’cause it was fucking cold in the sticks. We were called dirt bags and scumbags and heads. We also enjoyed dope long before our short-haired brethren and have long since grown bored with it or moved onto more colorful pastures.)

Now here we are with “heavy alternative” on the charts and major labels holding hands with our beloved underground. We can’t go future ’cause its been done by Human League and a zillion nameless bands ever since pumping out soulless techno beats and forgettable (or at least shallow) lyrics, and we can’t go retro ’cause vintage has been marked up and marketed so thoroughly the local Goodwill and Salvation Army outlets are flooded with clubhopping/coffeeshop fashion victims and who wants to listen to another decade of AC/DC, Zeppelin, Aerosmith and their watered-down offspring. Seriously, it’s enough to make you want to pull your skateboard out from behind those college texts that got you your job at Store 24 and listen to the Dead Kennedys. Or maybe you ought to get obscenely drunk at the next party you go to and slip “Bang Your Head” or “We’re Not Gonna to Take It” into the tapedeck. Sure, the crowd groans at first, but don’t they chuckle self-consciously and get a far away look in their eyes after a moment? To end this pointless rant, I quote Barry Manilow: “Where do we go from here?”