Pre-Script : It took me the last couple of months to come up with this. This is my small way of showing my appreciation for the many hours of listening pleasure and joy that music (rock in particular) has given me, in my times of depression. I've had to slightly alter the order of events for the poem to be readable but have tried as much as possible to stay true to chronology. And yes, there are numerous bands I've missed out. Forgive my inadequacy for not being able to fit them in. So an honorable mention is in order ... AC/DC, Bon Jovi, Joe Satriani, Steve Vai, Dream Theater, Pantera and the few current artists who are decent - Coldplay, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Radiohead, etc.
It is a really, really long poem. If you have the patience to read the whole thing then I'll seriously owe you one.
EDIT : Edited and improved version posted on October 27th, 2010.
It all began in sunshine land,
With Jackie's Rocket and 12-bar band,
And three years hence the King walked in,
And soothed his mother like Art did sing,
But ‘fore he ‘ssumed his regal throne,
A shade much darker did shout and moan,
The Buckeye jockey thus proclaimed,
The shade with praise and did coin its name.
Johnny was good and he did go,
The Godfather and his comets showed,
In the black forest, how to rock,
And to do so all around the clock.
Oh Maybellene, wish you were mine
And help me sing much rhythm divine,
Sad I feel that they missed the beat,
For all like me, walked a lonely street.
The King now fought, and some were gone,
Lament I heard, everything forlorn,
Now it was ailing; seemed to die,
But the magic berry helped it high;
It grew and now it did attack,
With grace to show the power of black
But, with Don I did howl and cry,
Crushed I was the day the music died.
But what good luck and no mischance!
Now it was the poet's turn to dance,
Waltzing he came in with his pen,
And strummed a chord in each citizen.
He gave us answers, and critique,
And sing did he of themes politic,
And then he did change all folk kin,
Picking a guitar while plugging it in.
Hold still though there’s yet more good luck!
Saints at church with the other were struck!
With a lil’ friendly help did mine-
They- a different rhythm divine.
And twice five years they sang to me,
Of Jude and how to let it be,
But followed them more who did sing,
Rule Britannia! God Save The King!
For from thence came four subjects who,
Played like a war and were called that too;
A voice reigned o’er, a staff windmill’d
Low pitch did rule and the moon ne’er still’d.
And to them I did tip my hat,
And played guitar when I picked up that,
For my generation, Tommy died too soon,
But no sooner than he who flew to the moon.
And then they who gather no moss,
Crossed wide waters and dispelled the dross,
One stone waked in the mid o' night,
To compose the movement’s anthem right.
And all this while, those saints did come,
To their abbey home, their own kingdom,
There they formed a club that did make,
Sounds too paramount to do a fake.
But alas, 'tis was not to last,
Time for them was running out and fast,
Ten years of joy for you, and me,
Time’s up for the Holy Trinity.
Fore’er they'd live in heart & soul,
For having played their brilliant role,
Tho' two did depart, without ease,
One got caught, the other caught disease.
So all hail the king, long live he,
No, not that one, this a reptile be.
Into perception, he did fall,
And did win respect for his bare gall.
But, a poet our king was too,
And did write as only could a few
His blues fore’er are etched in me,
'Tis sad that he left, clean as can be.
Came a legend; a great, a god;
And did things forever to be laud,
Tho' something wrong did seem to be,
Is that not a mirror before me?
As bold as love, the God did play,
And experienced us every day,
Alas, the sounds within his head,
Before we could hear, the God lay dead.
From his ashes, a phoenix rose,
New Holy Trinity, with new soul,
A page ‘ssembled his talent creed,
And two others did new music breed;
And thus they gave an upward flight,
Some time with chamber and lunar nights.
But, woe, alas, just too much white,
And walls to unite, did only divide.
The first four flew high like their name,
Though, not bad, but with increment fame.
When a yardbird found a voice new,
The seeds of greatness were planted true.
With Ahab and two saints did they,
Create a sect unlike any that day;
One, two, three, and perhaps a four,
And a few others, but lo much more.
For it began with times both types,
And love that they wanted whole and ripe,
Gods they became when by that grange,
They wrote their song, my desire so strange.
And though in nine, magic was gone,
That e'erlasting path would ne'er forlorn.
Quite opposite that lyric of old,
Here all that glitters is naught but gold.
All while these four flew their own way,
The queen did now march in grand parade,
And when she played those strings in May,
Cool spring gave way to the humid day.
And even though the heat did rise,
The mercury cooled and marked surprise,
His lyric stands within me tall,
I wish that I was ne'er born at all.
From architecture, did arose,
Four others, of psychedelic pose.
And though the madcap had to part,
The psalmist made cert that they’d go far.
But lo, let us all ne’er forget,
Holy waters which our thirsts did wet,
With them, we did after four years,
Make a journey thought to be too sheer.
And while they made sounds nonpareil,
Paying honor, building walls so well.
A rift 'rose twixt waters and psalms,
A wall too sure to be cured with calm.
After a final cut did they,
Part company and go their own ways,
Dry and barren, they still did ride,
Filling all with hopes with a mere slide.
And while this trinity did make,
Divine sounds that the world did shake,
A quart did form a heavy band,
A unique sound by killing a hand.
Though outside, the order did shout,
“Calls to devil, satanic, no doubt!”,
But you and I gave not a damn,
Hail, all hail, the mighty Iron Man.
Now by a lake, a fire was lit,
A castle was thus rendered unfit
Yet, I‘m grateful to that flare fool,
Who sourced the smoke that would metal rule
And followed them two groups who’d make
A heavier sound of heavy make,
Betrayal broke the law in gear,
While the device spoke of a dark fear.
Now the King did back, only to see,
Music paramount, not made by he,
So he did don the marvel cape,
To go with eagles upon his shape.
But the reign was over, long gone,
Those who cried, no more did fawn,
The King did take his final bow,
All lands with grace he had a wow'd
And while this famous King did reign,
Others famed in a different vein.
The bay-side quartet came to fore,
And the underworld did crave some more.
More was the bass, and more the speed
Yet was too fast for that fateful deed,
When the tires skid and welcomed death,
A great had taken his final breath.
But ahead forged they with new steed,
And did play better than their own breed.
Although the base faced constant haze,
Their music left me in amazing daze;
And with one song was justice served,
Though 'twas stolen, what the four deserved,
Yet came they back through hell and crack,
With a new sound and the color black.
Now flowers and weapons did the rounds,
Fuelled by fuel, they made similar sounds.
A joke was cracked, for naught to do,
But it whet appetites, and was sweet too;
But as December followed rain,
The axle did break from the night train.
No patience they did have at all,
This crazy train did crash to a halt.
To which tune, a madman did sing,
But not till the roads music did bring;
And on these roads, the train was rid,
And under them, Aleister had hid.
The world’s finest these paths laid out,
And they did aid that satanic mouth,
But damn that ride to satiate joy,
The roads did end; the man still a boy.
And in the last and next ten years,
Some Gods would gain a million cheers;
Those strings of May composed the tune,
An anthem for all the world to croon.
Dublin, where’d we be without you?
You made magic and the tv zoo;
The boss and his street gave us fun,
Because baby we were born to run.
Now backstreet's turn to sound anew,
That did appeal to many, not few.
The star though, lies 'lighten'd, in bloom
For while he did breathe, it was his gloom.
Followed him, a garden with beat
And a grandmother's own sweet treat.
They took this new Seattle sound,
A voice for the pain we all had found.
‘Cross the blue, in another town,
Two bands did make independent sounds;
While life in parks did pass in blurs,
Mornings with glory made two brothers.
And when ol’ George did go alone,
The older, their great anthem did hone,
Civil war did get the better,
But yet their songs do live forever.
Yet all was too good to be true,
And did go that sound from our ears too.
In the world we live, evil's laud,
And to do good is danger, oh god.
Shallow waters were drunk with glee,
And oceans left to just you and me.
So went the music, pushed to back,
And sounds were popped from atop the stack.
Curse my luck that I am born now,
And not when they all did us a'wow,
For now I search for that old sound,
And do get happy when that I've found.
The time is now I end this song,
And stop boring you before too long,
I had to give them rightful laud,
I had to repay my other Gods.
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