#310 - I Miss Guitar Hero

Let’s face reality. The world is a much less rocking place now that a landfill somewhere is stacked with obsolete Guitar controllers. It’s kind of sad that gone are the days when all you had to do was turn on the television, throw a strap around the neck, and instantaneously morph into an imaginary rock god.  With a backflip of the head, an involuntary scrunch of the face, and one long, high-pitched lick on the plastic fretboard, there was no denying that you were meant to headline MSG.

That’s Madison Square Gardens, not monosodium glutamate.

My tummy just rumbled.

Just think of how much greater the pandemic could have been if we were still heroic guitarsmiths. Sure, a few fences were repaired, and thousands of poorly written memoirs began, but all at the brutal cost of what could have potentially developed into a new pool of six-string leviathans. You see, instead of developing the rhythmic cadences that become the steppingstones for the next generation’s Stairway to Heaven, these future Proud Boys instead spray attacking aliens with automatic rifles and flame throwers while they could be ripping licks.

God knows more teenagers need the invaluable knowledge of how to charbroil a burger.

Something is missing. And it’s the living room stardom that has abandoned us shredders, thanks to the plug being pulled on the proverbial amp. And rock is now officially dead.

Because with no practice axe to make the fingers skillfully nimble, the only fire under their asses to seek their rightful heir to the holy rock stardom throne will be from the match that singes their dingleberries from lighting their own farts.

Guitar Hero was the initiation into potential immortality, learning music by braille, one imperative note at a time. You could be anyone--Eddie Van Halen, Jimmy Page, Slash. It was so much more than just a video game, but a position on the sacred stage. 

And I miss it.

So, I smoke Cannabis to quell my sadness. Hey, that sounds like a lyric!