Somehow I managed to convince myself that the death of rock'n'roll was sad, like losing a beloved aunt or the loss of a pet. Of course I am a worrier and I'll find a reason to fret. When the headlines on the teen magazines warned us that calypso was destined to end the social phenomena, I turned on Harry Belafonte. I despised him for years.
Now as my old friend is being kept up on a steady 4/4 on life support it seems only natural to pull the plug. Let 'er go, boys.
Turns out it's not the end of the world. I've got the music and the souvenirs. I've got my memories. Hail, hail rock'n'roll.