The Day The Music Lived Again

Steven Wilkins. A rock legend. A genius of his craft. The fact that he was unbelievably gorgeous just added to his massive fan-base. Steven had dominated the music scene since 2030, and the beginning of the Great Rock Purge. All discussions about Rock and Roll were outlawed by the United Nations and ratified by all 206 member states. There was no discussion allowed. You could play it, but you couldn’t talk about it.

Blame the riots of 2027. After Donald Trump came to power in ‘24 and all restrictions on carrying guns were abolished and that was passed by the United Nations too, all hell broke loose. It was anyone’s guess how he managed that. For some bizarre reason, Rock and Roll was hit hardest. Fifty thousand dead following worldwide debate over the origins of the music. The debates all ended the same. Some hillbilly would whip out a sidearm and blow the other guy away, with the taunts of “it was country music” drifting away on the breeze.

That was then and this was now.

Steven was resting in his caravan with the rest of his band, Firestorm. They had never been bigger and their latest album was a lot to do with that. He got up and approached the door to the trailer and it opened inwards as he got closer.

“Five minutes, lads,” said their manager, popping her head through the door. “Make it a good one tonight.

Steven nodded at the others.

“Showtime, boys. Let’s do this,” said Steven, as the band grabbed their jackets and made their way up into the main arena. They walked to the stage and took their positions as they had done so many times before.

Steven stepped forward to the front of the concert stage and looked out towards the waiting crowd. Ninety-thousand strong, the crowd held their collective breath as Steven breathed in. He lifted a fist defiantly into the air.

“The conversation died with our parents. Roc…Granite and Roll. Those guitar riffs, the drum solos, the voices lifting us to another place and making our feet move uncontrollably. Part blues, part rhythm, part country. Granite and Roll changed the world.”

The crowd cheered as one, united into a single voice, a uniform crescendo of adoration washing over Steven. They knew what was coming, or at least hoped it was. Steven Wilkins was here and as he looked out across the audience he felt the murmurs of anticipation growing.

“The music never belonged to the government. It was ours. Borne of the sweat and tears of those musicians that had gone before. Robert Johnson made the guitar sing in ways nobody had ever heard before. Elvis sang as only Elvis could and we all listened to the beat diumbstruck. Jimi Hendrix picked up that rhythm and gave us a sound that reverberated through the ages. It made our hearts stronger.”

Steven stopped and cast an eye out across the waiting audience. He saw the state troopers lined up above the crowd, targeting down at him. Their intention was clear. No talking about rock and roll. The law was without dispute.

“I didn’t come here today to just talk history with you. We all know the stories, the legends and the masterpieces. You don’t need me to tell you why Stairway to Heaven is a classic, why Hotel California is legendary and why nobody will ever sing Bat Out Of Hell like Meatloaf again. Money For Nothing? They put their souls into that music. It ate them up, chewed their bones and spat out the nugget of greatness that made the likes of Freddie Mercury a god.”

The crowd threw up another roar as Freddie’s name was mentioned. The lead singer of Queen had long since departed this world, but his presence remained as strong as ever. 

“Mick Jagger, Stevie Nicks, Robert Plant. These aren’t the names of mortal humans, these are demigods. Brought to Earth to entertain us. And this government is going to outlaw any discussion about — about that? Well, I’ve got news for them. We don’t need to talk about it, we’re going to do it. Here and now. And you know what? They can’t do a damn thing about it. You can outlaw conversations about any topic you want, but music is art and you can’t suppress art. Not on my watch.”

Steven pulled a silver guitar pick from his pocket and held it up between his thumb and forefinger, catching the light from the stadium overhead spots. He turned it left and right, reflecting the light out over the crowd. They surged forward, Expectant. He walked to the side of the stage and picked up Galahad, his trusty red Schecter, given to him personally by Mark Knopfler in his last will and testament. Mark died of a broken heart in 2030, at the age of 80, after the UN resolution on Rock and Roll was passed.

Laying the guitar strap around his neck, he swung the guitar down to his hips, and returned to the microphone to address the crowd again.

“When the end comes, and the mad nutters in charge push that little red button and blow us all to hell, it won’t be Mozart playing and it won’t be Cardi B they want to hear in those last few minutes of life, it will be a song that defined a generation and continues to live on in each of us. You know it, word for word and I know it. This song was a classic when it first left the lips of the First Lady of…Granite. It will always be the anthem that we play as we overthrow this world and take it back in the name of that which can’t be mentioned.”

The crowd crushed forward even more. The barriers began to buckle as the sheer force of numbers pushed closer to the stage. The cheers rose up and swelled the very air around Steven’s head. He positioned his hand, ready to play that opening note, E5, in his left hand and twirled the guitar pick through his fingers.

“This one’s for Joan!” Steven screamed letting his hand fall and his guitar do the talking. And as the opening bars of I Love Rock and Roll spat out of his guitar, he knew, as everybody always knew, that some things don’t need to be talked about, they need to be heard. They need to be lived.

Rock and Roll will never die.