The Rock n’ Roll Star-A Life Defined by the Fantastic

 

I have always desired to live the life of a rocker as I have always been intrigued with the reckless lifestyle associated with the job. I want to be believe in the stories, videos, and interviews that have come to define the very meaning of what rock n’ roll is about.

Here are my reasons for wanting to be a musical icon:

I enjoy waking up at noon.  After moments of contemplating my epic awesomeness to the surrounding world, I stagger out of bed (leaving some unidentified girl behind in it), spy my bottle of Jack Daniels through my dazed perception, take a swig from it, and then walk to the bathroom mirror and smile at it knowing that I am adored by millions simply because I can strum a guitar.

I enjoy wearing clothes that don’t match. I want to wear what I want, when I want (A tie with jogging pants-boo yah!). My style is my own. While the minions march off to work each day in their uniforms for “the man”, I enjoy throwing on whatever may be lying on the floor of whatever room I find myself waking up in. No matter what I wear, it will be deemed influential and fashionable. I will start a trend, no matter how overly flamboyant my wardrobe is*.

I desire to walk down the street with a swagger that threatens the personal space of others. I write and record music, therefore allowing me the privilege to do as I please. I strut because musical composition defines me as better than everyone else, including teachers, doctors, lawyers, and parents**.

I once had a job where I was threatened with suspension for not cutting my hair. I had to shave every day, and had to maintain a professional look that didn’t frighten (horrify) the people that frequented my place of employment.  As a rock star, I can roll out of bed and fashion my Robert Smith***do for the day (or a 1997 Keith Flint look-depends on what mood I’m trying to sell to the masses)****, because in the end, it doesn’t really matter how I look. My style of locks will create a stir, cause a sensation, and will eventually be copied by thousands of adoring fans. I will never be ridiculed, only admired for my individualistic integrity

I am immune to health disorders (unless it’s too many drugs, which is still deemed as acceptable by rock star standards). I can drink, smoke, and womanize. These actions are deemed detrimental to normal folk, but not rock stars, because the rock star is defined by his level of party. Society doesn’t look down upon my actions; they instead look up at me with enviable admiration. The public does not want Justin Bieber’s, they want Robert Plant’s (Going the Jim Morrison or John Bonham route ruins the fun, though you are still considered cool).  I must show society how it’s done since they don’t have the financial freedom to live like a rock star. In the end, it’s about the image, and the rock god (a.k.a. me) learns to glorify it to no end.

“I enjoy travelling. I want to see the world. Hmm, what to do? Let’s see, I can sing a few notes. Hey, look at that, I got a record deal. What’s that? You’re going to send me on a world tour paid for by the record label? Let me get this straight? You’re going to pay for all of my flights (private jet, of course), hotels, booze, and food. And you are going to pay me a salary on top of that? And all I have to do is sing and play guitar for an hour and a half? Maybe do some interviews (but I can be withdrawn and inarticulate-this way, people will think that I’m mysteriously cool with an enigmatic twist, and journalists will struggle for years attempting to figure me out), but other than that, I can sight see and experience the world? Or I can stay at home, work a 9 to 5 job, fight the traffic every day, and be bored with life? Hmm, I’ll take the former”.

Women will love me without even really knowing me. Normally, women wouldn’t give me the time of day, but wait a minute, I’m now holding a guitar in my hands. I have instantaneously become a rebellious, social misfit who oozes sexual machismo. Women now adore me, desire me, and worship the ground I walk upon (I know this to be true because of my past experiences with rock musicians. I was at a concert a few years ago, and the lead singer asked that all the women scream for him. They concurred to his wish). Women love me, men want to be me.

Anger, bitterness, addiction, loneliness, and eventual rehabilitation have all become attributes of the rebellious rock star. Rather than viewed as evil undoings, though, these issues simply become content for my future albums. I grow as a result, because I have persevered and overcome my vices. I may spend some time in jail for certain addictions, but not like “normal” people arrested on the same charges***** . It becomes a redemptive story that needs to be shared through song. And everyone will continue to love me for it, because I have evolved as an artist.

A rock star doesn’t create the buzz; he is the buzz.

Rock n’ Roll; need I say more?