People ask me all the time: “Why rock n’ roll? In 2025? Really?”
My answer is always the same. When’s the last time you turned on the radio—any station, Spotify “Today’s Top Hits,” Apple Music, TikTok, whatever—and heard a real guitar riff that punched you in the chest? When’s the last time you heard an actual guitar solo that made the hair on your arms stand up? Hell, when’s the last time you heard a guitar at all that wasn’t a two-second loop buried under fifteen layers of Auto-Tune and kick drums the size of asteroids?
Exactly.
Rock n’ roll didn’t die. It was quietly escorted out the back door while everyone was busy chasing streams, clout, and algorithmic approval. The electric guitar—the snarling, filthy, beautiful voice of rebellion for three generations—got labeled “dad music” or “boomer nostalgia” and shoved into classic-rock ghettos where it plays between ads for reverse mortgages.
But here’s the thing nobody wants to admit: the world is starving for it.
We’re drowning in polished, focus-grouped, risk-free noise that evaporates the second the next track starts. And deep down, people are bored. They feel it. They just don’t know what’s missing until that first distorted chord of “Sweet Child O’ Mine” or “Back in Black” hits them like a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart. Suddenly they remember what it feels like to be alive.
That’s why I still choose rock n’ roll. Every single day.
- I live rock n’ roll.
- I breathe rock n’ roll.
- I bleed rock n’ roll.
And so help me God, Creator of all things, I will die rock n’ roll.
It’s not a phase. It’s not a costume. It’s the only thing that’s ever made sense in a world that increasingly doesn’t.
The first time I hit an open E chord and felt the thing roar back at me, I wasn’t a shy kid with braces anymore. I was dangerous. I was free. Twenty years later, that feeling hasn’t faded. If anything, it’s gotten louder.
I don’t care if the charts say rock is dead. Charts lie. Charts are written by people who’ve never stood in a dive bar at 1 a.m. while some three-chord miracle makes 200 strangers lose their damn minds. Charts have never seen a 16-year-old girl absolutely shred “Eruption” in her bedroom and realize she can do anything she wants with her life.
That’s the real scoreboard.
So yeah, I’m still here, still writing riffs at 3 a.m., still chasing that perfect feedback howl, still believing the next generation is going to pick up the torch and burn the whole thing down in the best way possible.
God willing, there’s nothing I’d love more than to inspire just one person—just one—to dust off that guitar in the corner, plug it in, turn it up, and play until their fingers bleed and their soul feels clean again.
Because rock n’ roll isn’t a genre. It’s a lifeline.
I’ve got new songs coming. Real ones. The kind with guitars that bite, drums that swing, and lyrics that don’t apologize for existing. I’m hoping to properly release them this year. No algorithms. No committee. Just loud, honest, human noise.
Stay tuned.
And if you’re reading this and something in your chest is rumbling like a Marshall stack about to take off…
Pick up the guitar. Turn it up. Play one chord like your life depends on it.
Because maybe it does.
For those about to rock—we salute you.
Always have. Always will.