The great magic moments of rock'n'roll
By Michael Herr. Excerpt from the book 'Rock Dreams', by Guy Peellaert and Nic Cohn.
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As they almost say in show business, You can be a living legend and still be dead. Who knows where those dreams go when we're through dreaming them? On dreamtime in dreamland, it doesn't matter that much whether James Dean is after all the beloved basket-case of a million teen prayers, in a sanatorium outside of L.A. because he was too beautiful to die, or up in rock and roll heaven with Marilyn Monroe, drinking cokes and holding hands, because he was too beautiful to live. Either way, the combo of youth, beauty, and death has always made the hottest music, generated the erotic wave that would take you out the farthest.
Any one of us from fifteen to fifty could have a rock dream where the two hundred and fifty-pound King of Rock and Roll is swelling his leathers and leaking pill sweat, and still not know the heart of that great man, or even of his historical moment, finished twenty years ago but still going on. Frank Sinatra puts on the accumulations of his power and experience and takes them off again, like a coat. Ray Charles cruises past with his hand on the wheel and shades to cut the glare, and you're incredibly happy for him but you don't know why. And the most famous men in the world line the counter at the Robert Frank all-time allnight diner, where the elite meet to eat and your quarter can still buy you an cheeseburger and coffee and it tastes exactly like it did before the prices all went up, only different. A few still manage to get out alive, paid-up and walking, and those that don't have a life of their own anyway in our repository hearts (as we all could admit now), and for years to come for everyone to read and see again in the pages of the inspired rock and roll book of love and mortality.
Seite 1 2 3 4 5 6
Seite 1 2 3 4 5 6
As they almost say in show business, You can be a living legend and still be dead. Who knows where those dreams go when we're through dreaming them? On dreamtime in dreamland, it doesn't matter that much whether James Dean is after all the beloved basket-case of a million teen prayers, in a sanatorium outside of L.A. because he was too beautiful to die, or up in rock and roll heaven with Marilyn Monroe, drinking cokes and holding hands, because he was too beautiful to live. Either way, the combo of youth, beauty, and death has always made the hottest music, generated the erotic wave that would take you out the farthest.
Any one of us from fifteen to fifty could have a rock dream where the two hundred and fifty-pound King of Rock and Roll is swelling his leathers and leaking pill sweat, and still not know the heart of that great man, or even of his historical moment, finished twenty years ago but still going on. Frank Sinatra puts on the accumulations of his power and experience and takes them off again, like a coat. Ray Charles cruises past with his hand on the wheel and shades to cut the glare, and you're incredibly happy for him but you don't know why. And the most famous men in the world line the counter at the Robert Frank all-time allnight diner, where the elite meet to eat and your quarter can still buy you an cheeseburger and coffee and it tastes exactly like it did before the prices all went up, only different. A few still manage to get out alive, paid-up and walking, and those that don't have a life of their own anyway in our repository hearts (as we all could admit now), and for years to come for everyone to read and see again in the pages of the inspired rock and roll book of love and mortality.
Seite 1 2 3 4 5 6
