And So They Say

By Cyril Joseph

So here we are, caught in the shuffle for the ages. Born out of time for the roaring guitars and rebellious anthems of the golden age of rock and roll. We missed the memo, the invitation to the grand party where whiskey flowed like water, and the only thing heavier than guitar riffs was the smoke in the air.

And so they say, we’ve had to go through life, knowing we missed out on what matters to us, and that’s something we’re just going to have to live with. Born in the wrong place, at the wrong time. When the radio never plays our music. When artists who spoke our language have gone the way of vinyl, spinning towards the edge of oblivion. When unhinged creators who built worlds for us to escape in, have long killed themselves, be it intentionally or not.

And so they say, that we’ve missed out on the times when our brand of rebellion was fashionable. When we were free and ungoverned. When we could unapologetically be us. When the only thing more prevalent than substances that forced us to look inward was the urge to scream outward.

And so they say we missed out on the peak of it all. For hell’s sake, we were born too late for Woodstock! But there’s hope yet; we still hear echoes and stories about how it was all the rage. We hear wicked tunes seeping in the undergrowth, even after our kin was banished. We still feel it taking over, that electric urge, pushing us to turn it up to eleven. We sing it, to fuel our very existence with the visceral energy that we were born too late to experience first-hand.

And so we say, the world went way too serious on us. All we ever wanted was to play some rock and roll into a good time. When did people start taking themselves so seriously, anyway? But I guess playing the misfit was always a part of our gig. So long live “your dad’s music” as the children call it these days. Long live it through us debauchers, libertines and deviants who will hold it dearer than most will ever comprehend. Long live rebellion!

By Cyril Joseph