Nov 21, 2022
Let’s face reality. The world is
a much less rocking place now that a landfill somewhere is stacked
with obsolete Guitar controllers. It’s kind of sad that gone are
the days when all you had to do was turn on the television, throw a
strap around the neck and instantaneously morph into an imaginary
rock god. With a back flip of the head, an involuntary
scrunch of the face, and one long high-pitched lick on the plastic
fretboard, there was no denying that you were meant to headline
MSG.
That’s Madison Square
Gardens, not monosodium glutamate.
My tummy just
rumbled.
Just think of how much
greater the pandemic could have been if we were still heroic
guitarsmiths. Sure, a few fences were repaired, and thousands of
poorly written autobiographies begun, but all at the brutal cost of
what could have potentially developed into a new pool of six string
leviathans. You see, instead of developing the rhythmic cadences
that become the steppingstones for the next generation’s Stairway
to Heaven, these future Proud Boys are instead spraying attacking
aliens with automatic rifles and flame throwers while they could be
ripping licks.
God knows more
teenagers need the invaluable knowledge of how to charbroil a
burger.
Something is missing.
And it’s the living room stardom that has abandoned us thanks to
the plug being pulled on the proverbial amp. And rock is now
officially dead.
Because with no
practice axe to make the fingers skillfully nimble, the only fire
under their asses to go seek their rightful heir to the holy rock
stardom throne will be from the match that singes their
dingleberries from lighting their own farts.
Guitar Hero was the
initiation into potential immortality, learning music by braille,
one imperative note at a time. You could be anyone--Eddie Van
Halen, Jimmy Page, Slash. It was so much more than just a video
game, but a position on the sacred stage.
And I miss
it.
So, I smoke Cannabis to
quell my sadness. Hey, that sounds like a lyric!