Soft Rock Hell

While getting my hair cut the other day, I was forced to listen to the soft rock garbage playing on Magic 95. I was trapped; there was no escape. The experience nearly caused me to impale myself on the stylist's scissors. When you’re being subjected to a Lionel Ritchie song, plunging a pair of scissors into your throat seems like a viable option. Anything to stop the pain!

All these soft rock stations seem to be Magic something or another. How did magic get associated with soft rock? I'm no fan of magic but being linked to soft rock seems like pretty harsh punishment. There's nothing magic about soft sock. If there was, it would disappear.

For the same reasons no one wants sour lemonade, warm ice cream, or dull razor blades there’s no need for soft rock. Listening to soft rock is like being served a turd sandwich; a complete and disgusting disappointment. These soft rock stations really should run a disclaimer--May induce vomiting or suicidal thoughts.

Soft rock is such a huge misnomer. The stuff is atrocious and has nothing to do with rock. Rock isn't soft; that's the whole point. Rock n roll should make you lose control. The only thing soft rock will make you lose is your will to live. It takes some real cajones to think you can take something great like rock n roll and “soften” it. Like eating a veggie burger, this bastardization of rock is sickening. What gives them the right? Did they consult the King before doing this? That’s what I thought.

This blog wouldn’t be complete without thanking Matthew Knecht for saving me from a life of soft rock hell. Shamefully I must admit there was a time when I thought I liked soft rock. I blame my mother for this. Hours and hours spent in a mini van listening to soft rock can scramble your brains. That was my mental state. Luckily Matthew snapped me out of this funk by introducing me to real rock—Metallica! Once I heard Enter Sandman I knew things would never be the same for me again. I kicked that soft rock trash to the curb and never looked back.