Let’s look at the cover of last week’s issue of Rolling Stone magazine, shall we?
Okay, now let’s look at the cover of an issue of Rolling Stone from 1970:
All right, I’ll give you that Janis Joplin maybe wasn’t as traditionally “hot” as Katy Perry, although that’s extremely debatable — I know which one I’d choose to bang on a drunken train ride and I don’t think I have to tell you it would be the one with the actual talent. Don’t get me wrong, Katy Perry is stacked like nobody’s business, but I would sooner shoot myself in the dick with a spear gun than listen to even a few moments of her “music.”
Call me a relic, call me what you will, as the song says, but I honestly believe what Lester Bangs was saying for years before his death: Rock n’ Roll is dead, dead like a motherfucker, and until Jack White can top the mainstream Billboard hot 100 (the chart position he should hold at all times, unless toppled for a few weeks by Bigelf), that corpse is gonna continue to rot. The 16-year-old daughter of a friend of mine was recently blabbing some sort of retarded mumbo-jumbo and when I quizzed her about it, she told me it was a Lady Gaga “song.” I played the Zep’s Ramble On for that 16-year-old and she flipped the hell out. So I firmly believe the kids today don’t care that much about the shitty music they’re being force-fed and they’d love to rock out with their cocks out if they were only given access to the music.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go sit on the porch and whittle a good sharp stick until Matlock comes on.
