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Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Rock and roll is dead
Oh dear me. Coming soon to a Holiday Inn Boom-Boom Room near you: Jimmy and the Foreheads
In the afternoon we went to the Guitar Center to buy an amp for Garageband. It’s been a long time since I went to a guitar store, and I was amazed by the quantity of merchandise; never mind the silly HaRd Rawk axes or the innumerable cheapo Strat knockoffs - they had some vintage Fenders in hues you associate with tailfinned death-cars, and a butterscotch-finish Les Paul that made me weak in the knees. I didn’t know whether to buy it or ask for its neck in marriage. I might go back. (My Strat, she is a heavy burden – literally, the thing weighs nine tons, and as much as I love the whammy bar the guitar is incapable of staying in tune.) Gnat amused herself by playing all the guitars like harps. She sat in my lap as I tried out some pedals. We’ll have to go back; I can only imagine that “going to the electric guitar store with Daddy” might be one of those key memories that leads her to think I’m far cooler than I could ever hope to be.
It was with this eventuality in mind that Pete Townshend found the need to write:
I hope I die before I get old.
I blame this on easy-to-acquire digital audio-editing software that allows anyone whose muse is Night Ranger to become an artiste in the non-critical comfort and sanctity of their own home. Just because You Can Still Rock In America (Ah yeah s'alright), doesn't mean that you should.
Remember:
The very technology that gave us Trent Reznor also gave us Andrew WK.
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