I’ve written in the past of my hobby of singing out loud and adapting the tune that I’m listening to and reworking the lyrics with the addition of expletives, pornographic phraseology, and good old-fashioned curse words. I thought all guys did that. Well, apparently not.
I’ve heard from some men who share this pastime. It’s nice to know that my activity isn’t idiosyncratic. I’m not ashamed of my skills. I know it takes a rare breed of man to recognize his obligation and his responsibility for the continuation of an art form. You take a little anger. You slap a bit of resentment. You throw in conflict and you mingle in sex. You raise a voice in protest - and you got rock & roll my friend. Hell - head banging isn’t for the weak kneed or stiff necked. I’m just doing my part so that the freedom to be revolting can endure.
Sure - we’ll always have the kind of man who wears a sweater and sways as he snaps to the latest Josh Groban tune - and God love ’um … it truly takes all kinds. But those who arrange and rearrange, we’re just the kind of men who refuse to live in a monochromatic world where music is limited to middle of the road bilge. And personally - I feel it’s my duty to masculinity to feel disturbed when I hear anything from the Lilith Fair “let’s celebrate-the-uterus” vein of tunes.
People forget - music is powerful. Look at Alanis Morissette. Her angry diatribes caused a generation of men to cross their legs and cover their ears. You think there’s a chance that Barry Manilow had a hidden agenda? Any chance he wrote “I write the songs” just to give his fellow man the opportunity to raise his voice and shout “Hell No!”?