Angkor, Cambodia

WE BUILT THIS CITY ON ROCK AND ROLL

We built this city on Rock and Roll. Every temple, every gatehouse in every cardinal direction, every tower blossoming like a lotus flower, every labyrinthine, cruciform floor plan, conceived like the sweetest and heaviest rock ballad ever, sandstone compositions on a Wagnerian-scale, stairways to heaven and city walls to withstand the infrequent but awesome power of the November Rain. Nothing is more important than symmetry, mirror perfect, like a reflecting pool perpendicular to the horizon extending to the stars--you know symmetrical like a heavy metal logo, serifs splayed like swords in battle. We were given succor by the sweetest of angels, we sacrificed our souls to the demons of the record industry, kept up with the latest innovations from 8-track to CD to itunes. Little did we know that even the Gods of Rock are mortals like us--spend so much time reproducing that signature wall of sound, sharpening our battle axes, perfecting the most effortless arpeggio, and the whole time those upstart kids from Siam are coming up, coming up, coming up from behind, with their brash new and more marketable pop sensibilities, their fay schoolboy poses belying their vicious intentions, and thus we lose our edge. First the cornerstones shift, the keystones settle, and the rest just goes slack and sloppy, and nothing you could palm off as velvet-underground inspired either, just one big shit pile. All our boldest gestures, once shocking and sublime have turned pedestrian and dull--blame all that AOR radio airplay round the clock. And before you know it we're just another dime song on some bootlegged mp3 comp you can buy from any night market, from any schmuck with a CD burner and a color printer. The age of stone is no more and even the kingdom of metal is failing to the ashen shadows of dusk. Heed this warning you carefree daughters and mop-headed sons of Siam, all songs, no matter how long and contrived, will have their coda.