I learned (too) many years ago that rock and roll is the music your parents love to hate. The difference between a clenched fist of understanding that and the balled fist of being confronted by it has a lot to do with whose music we're talking about and which generation is speaking.
I'll be sixty-five in six months and two weeks so my idea of rock and roll, much like almost everything to do with life on earth, is probably a skosh (or more) different from yours. It's okay because as long as you don't mind being wrong, far be it from me to hold it against you.
I'm kidding (of course). It's just a good day for jokes, I think. Actually, any day where Bob Dylan receives the Nobel Prize for Literature is a good day. Especially if you're Bob Dylan.
"The highway is for gamblers, better use your sense. Take what you have gathered from coincidence. The empty-handed painter from your streets is drawing crazy patterns on your sheets. This sky, too, is folding under you. And it’s all over now, Baby Blue."