Chicks Wanna Rock

Chicks dig boys who rock.

This is one of the oldest truisms in rock’n’roll music, and yet it is still so hard for guys to understand. I mean, there they are up on stage wailing their guts out in those tight jeans, the sweat running down their chests making their t-shirts cling suggestively, eyes closed, cradling those guitars like they were women…

I mean, c’mon. To separate sex from rock’n’roll…hell, what do you think the word means? So why is it that I can’t love the music and the musicians without accusations of hormonal lunacy? I am a 40-something year-old woman—dammit, I am a hormonally-charged lunatic! And what, might I ask, is wrong with that? Have you ever seen a teenage boy’s bedroom (or the files/photos he has secretly saved on his PC)? Really, now, the hypocrisy.

This is not to say I don’t appreciate the musicianship, the craft, the lyrics, the style. I love Paul Westerberg for his mind as much as his body—after all, it’s the mind that came up with those amazing words and melodies that haunt my soul. So don’t ever deign to question my seriousness about this music and what it means to me. But, that being said…

I once wrote about boys with guitars, and I stand by my story. Removing sex from music is like removing the engine from a car—all machinery and no power…So gimme a break, will ya, fellas? ‘Cos it’s only boys and rock’n’roll…and I like it.