Greta Van Fleet
August 29, 2017
So I heard this song by a new band called Greta Van Fleet, called “Highway Tune”. And I’m like, Yeah! New band likes them some Led Zeppelin, and is not afraid to show it. So I came to the show ready to rock, dressed in my finest wrestling tights, unbuttoned shirt and silver feather boa. Yes, I can rock both Robert Plant and Jimmy Page’s look from The Song Remains The Same, at the same time. And it was awesome!
Goodbye June opened the show, and they were rocking, working that mix of hipster chic and long-haired freaky people. Then the lights went down, girls strarted screaming, and a bunch of eight year olds walked out on stage. They started playing, and I’m thinking, “That’s nice. Band dudes let their kids open the show for them. That’s kinda cute, in a rock & roll sorta way.” And then, I realized that this was the band. And while still looking awesome, I suddenly felt older at a rock show than I ever. Have. Before.
Sure, these kids had all the look of a rock band. Long hair, Check. Tight leather pants. Check. Lead singer looking and sounding like Jon Anderson of Yes. (I’m sorry, Jon Anderson of Yes featuring Jon Anderson, Rick Wakeman and Trevor Rabin. Gotta keep the customers and lawyers satisfied.) Check. But they looked like they’ve never seen a shaver, or an ID check. And what does that make me? I’m no longer a peer to my rock & roll heroes. I’m Grandpa. A grizzled, yet still good-looking veteran of the rock & roll wars. And now, the kids are pushing the previous generation out of the way, on their way to Hot Topic and the IPhone store. I came to this show to rock out. I left questioning my own mortality.
Every time I look in the mirror, all these lines on my face getting clearer. What is bad, because I wear a mask. No wonder Kiss starting wearing makeup again. I’m a heritage act, now. Someday, I’ll have to admit (only to myself, thank you very much) that I no longer the world’s greatest wrestler, that also likes to take concert photos, and can speak about the differences between 1930s art deco, and art modern. With manly gusto. I’ll spend the rest of my life in semi-retirement, returning only for department store openings, ballpark promotions, and Wrestlemania. Damn you, Father Time!
So yes, I admit it. I am a heritage artist. I have been around the ring more than a few times. Years, mileage, I got ‘em. But while the next generation might be coming in dressed in diapers and ripped blue jeans, I can still recognize a Rock Show when I see one. Young men wore tight pants, flailed their long hair around and played really loud, and girls screamed. And if that’s isn’t Rock & Roll, I don’t know what is. Even I can recognize. Maybe these kids will look up to me the way I looked up my grandfather, El Santo (as far as you know). Jimmy Page and me, rocking out the Grandpa look with gusto, showing the young’uns how it’s done. That, I can handle.
Just don’t look too closely at my mask. Pardon me while I go get some makeup.
-The Grim Freaker