I’m currently working on a longer¹ piece for this blog and I originally intended not to post anything else until I’ve finished that one, but there is one thing that is on my Might Write a Post About This™ list which I’ve been reminded of a couple of days ago and can’t really keep my fingers off right now. So I think I’ll let the big one rest for the moment and squeeze in a little one in the meantime. Might even to it some good, getting my head off it.

So, with nothing else to do, let’s get right into it.

I love music. Always have. Both listening to music and playing it myself are two of the great joys of my life. And one of my absolutely favourite kinds of music is rock music. Naturally, though, “rock music” is quite subjective, the borders of music genres aren’t set in stone, after all. So, to give you an idea of what I’m talking about, I’ll give you a quick list of the artists I’m listening to the most:

• AC/DC

• Poison

• Guns N’ Roses

• Bryan Adams

• Foreigner

• Journey

• Huey Lewis & The News

You get the gist, I think. And you might also notice something else, which is something that never sat quite right with me. This music is old music. Which isn’t a bad thing in and of itself, don’t get me wrong, but it always seemed to me that the glory days of this thing that I love so much ended a good chunk of time before I was born. That I’d somehow missed something, and was never going to be able to really partake in it, experience it.

So, about two years back, on a cloudy afternoon, when I was sitting on the couch of my mum’s living room, I decided to open up a web search and look for “new” rock music. And with “new” I don’t mean music that was recently published. Many of the old greats are still producing new records every now and then, and great records at that, but I wasn’t really searching for new music, exactly, I was searching for new musicians. Musicians which were going to carry the torch — or, well, the guitar, I should say. And so I scoured the various “top fifty modern rock bands” sites of the internet, but, to my disappointment, I found the results to be rather disheartening.

Now, don’t misunderstand me, many of the bands I found on there were genuinely great, no questions asked. But none of them really seemed to fit to me. It’s really hard to put into words, but I’ve always felt that rock music isn’t about whether there is an electric guitar on the song, or whether you think that what the singer is doing can’t be good for the health of their vocal chords in the long term. Or whether it’s … well … loud.

To me, it has always been about the feeling, I think. For music to feel like rock music, it needs to make me close my eyes and grin uncontrollably. It needs to make me tap my feet and play air guitar no matter how many people might see. It needs to make me feel a little bit like my heart was on fire.

Like “Nothin’ But A Good Time” by Poison. Or “Highway to Hell” by AC/DC. Or “Old Time Rock & Roll” by Bob Seger. Or “Rock And Roll All Nite” by Kiss.

And, now that I think of it, I feel like there is something more, something beyond the “simple fun” of these tracks above. A rare kind of melancholy I’m having difficulties putting my finger on.

Something that says “I know”. But also “Everything will be all right”. Full of sorrow and longing, and yet, somehow, soothingly hopeful at the same time.

The feeling of gazing upon a late summer sunset.

The gentle touch of your lover’s hand upon your shoulder.

A singular tear, rolling down a smiling face.

Catharsis.

Like “The Boys Of Summer” by Don Henley. Or “Summer of ‘69” by Bryan Adams. Or “Free Fallin’” by Tom Petty. Or “Every Rose Has Its Thorn” by Poison.

You don’t always hear it, but I think this is what lies at the heart of it all.

 

Anyway …

 

Let’s just say that after quite some time, I still hadn’t found what I was looking for, and had begun to lose hope.

But then, at the tail end of some website, I came upon a band of the name “Dirty Honey”. And just as I’d done with all the other names of the hour before, I typed it into the search bar, hit enter, and clicked on the first song that popped up:

Rolling 7’s

And there it was. That spark. Everything about it just felt right. I was tapping my feet along and bopping my head the whole first part of the song, and by the end of the first hook I was grinning like a fool.

I was ecstatic. I’d found living evidence that one of my favourite kinds of music has, in fact, not died on me, at least not completely. I could live with that.

So I listened to the band’s music up and down on the way to the barrack and back.² They even released a new album later that year, called “Can’t Find The Brakes”, which, in the form of “Coming Home (Ballad of the Shire)” and “You Make It Alright”, showed me that in addition to the “stupid fun” kind of rock ’n’ roll, they could also do the other kind.

If that had been the end of it, though, I wouldn’t be sitting here right now. This post idea would still be merely bullet on a list. But you see, a few months back, I saw that they were coming to Zurich for a live show.

So I bought a ticket. And I went. A handful of days ago. It was phenomenal.

Let me just set the scene here. I walked up to the venue³ and it was a relatively small club⁴ at the riverside. There was a HUGE dude in black at the entrance, eyeing everyone mistrustingly, and past him, on the inside, I could see another (less huge) guy, checking tickets. So I went inside, got my ticket scanned, and was guided to the third floor (not before going to the bathroom, though, which was, as is customary, covered in graffiti and stickers to a degree that it was literally impossible to see the wall), where I could see a bar, and beyond it, a room that opened into a medium-sized hall. So I got myself something to drink⁵ and walked out towards the stage to find a good place to stand. Which wasn’t difficult to do. There were maybe a dozen people in there who had arrived before me, as I’d, notoriously over-punctual, arrived about twenty minutes too early.

I know. Moving on.

About twenty minutes later, just as the event was due to start, a group of people whom I didn’t recognise walked onto the stage, and the crowd started cheering. I was confused for a second, already afraid that I’d somehow gone to the wrong place, but then I remembered that opening acts are a thing. So I settled in, ready to enjoy the show.

And that I did. While they don’t really evoke that distinct feeling I’ve described, these people, called “James and the Cold Gun”, absolutely did satisfy my “damn that’s good music” feeling, so I genuinely had a great time⁶.

Then, after James and the Cold Gun went off stage, enjoying their last applause, there was a short break. Everybody was standing around, some of us went back to the bar, or to the toilet, but after a short while “Rock ‘N’ Roll Damnation” by AC/DC started playing. The entire crowd perked up their ears and slowly pivoted towards the stage. And there they came, Marc LaBelle, John Notto, Justin Smolian and Jaydon Bean, in the flesh.

Now, I’m fortunate enough to have been to many other of my favourite artists’ live performances in the past. I saw Roger Hodgson and Bryan Adams when I was a boy, Elton John in 2023, and Toto just last summer. So, to keep the rest short; When the show began, a familiar kind of euphoria bubbled up in my chest, the one characteristic to listening to live renditions of some of my favourite music. If you’re lucky enough to have experienced something of this kind, then you’ll know what I mean. And if not … well … I regret to say that I’m not sure that I could describe it to you and do it justice. It’s simply glorious.

And this time, there was something else. Something beyond just that. This time, these people up there on the stage, the ones playing for us, making us sing to their songs, they weren’t cherished memories of a bygone golden age, but its spirit, drawing new breath.

So, yeah. Fuck yeah. I enjoyed myself tremendously during the next hour and a half.

And then, after the last encore, the crowd — me included — bid the band farewell with one last furious applause and then trickled out into the night. I took the train for home, processing what had just happened. I’d just seen Dirty Honey live. And it had been as fantastic as I could’ve ever dreamed it to be.

Which leaves me with very little left to say. Only that I’m very sure now that rock ’n’ roll is, in fact, alive and well. And if I get any say in it, that won’t change anytime soon.

Actually  … now that I think of it  … I might go out to try and find a guitar for myself. At a second-hand store. Some beat old six-string.

It can’t be that hard, can it?