Who can avoid the ubiquitous guitar-smash--that guitar-o-cide that has been so prevalent in the last 40 years? The broken guitar has been somewhat of a sign of the end of the set. And who can really tell whether or not the guitars are punished because the drugs have worn off or have just started to climax. Whatever the case, a rock band's emotional involvement is often considered directly proportional to the degree to which their stage is destroyed. And it is not entirely uncommon to see rockers destroy just about every piece of sound equipment on stage--rock band manager's cannot be anything other than upset. But what's even more strange than the execution of sound is the sanguine acceptance and downright approval of the audience. It is almost as if witnesses to this melodic massacre don't only applaud the mic's condemnation, they encourage it--nay they expect it. But what an irony, right? Because isn't the essence of the rock band the guitar? Aren't the drums indispensable? Isn't the bass fundamental? So when the rocker's crush their instruments, shouldn't we all recoil in disgust as if from cannibalism? Because, frankly, the guitar pays the mortgage.
But we don't recoil. We, as the respective audience members, don't protest the onstage atrocity. We clap. We cheer. How do we accept this horrible fact of rock? How is this just in the rock universe?
The guitar smash is not just a crime of passion. The guitar smash is the full-fledged signification that rock and roll, at its essence, is not about 4-4 beats and power chords: it's about a lifestyle. The guitar smash is proof that rock music is something that lives in the blood of the makers. The guitar is merely a messenger of internal struggle--that adolescent angst. So every time a rocker smashes his guitar and kicks the bass drum, he isn't saying that he is passionate about that particular song or even that he is extraordinarily high. Instead he is saying that rock never was, or ever will be, about the music.
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