I Love Rock and Roll

I Love Rock and Roll

The first time I heard We Will Rock You, I was twelve years old and sitting on my uncle’s worn leather couch. He had a record player that looked ancient to me—heavy, wooden, smelling faintly of dust and time. He placed the vinyl on the turntable, the faint crackle of static filled the air, and then it happened

Boom, boom, clap. Boom, boom, clap.

The sound wasn’t just in my ears—it was in my chest, my bones, my heartbeat. My uncle grinned at me like he was letting me in on the greatest secret of life. “This,” he said, tapping his foot to the rhythm, “is Queen. And this, my boy, is rock and roll.”

From that day on, music wasn’t just background noise. It was an identity.

The Song That Never Gets Old

We Will Rock You wasn’t just a track—it was a battle cry. Written by Brian May and recorded in 1977, it was designed to make stadiums shake. The beat was simple—stomps and claps—but it was impossible to resist.

I learned that Queen recorded it in a way that captured raw energy. They wanted thousands of people to be able to join in without instruments, to be part of something bigger than themselves. And it worked. Forty-eight years later, it’s still one of the most recognizable songs in the world.

Discovering My Own Beat

At school, I couldn’t stop thinking about that song. I’d tap it on my desk, stomp it in the hallway, even hum it under my breath during math class. Some teachers didn’t appreciate it, but my friends did. Soon, we had our own little “rock crew.”

We’d sit in my garage with cheap second-hand instruments, playing the same three chords over and over, pretending we were on stage in front of thousands. None of us were particularly good, but the spirit was there—and that was enough.

One night, I convinced my parents to let us stay up late and watch a Queen concert video. It was Wembley Stadium, 1986—Freddie Mercury in his white tank top, strutting across the stage like he owned the world. The crowd clapped and stomped in unison, the sound of We Will Rock You echoing into the night.

I knew then: I wanted to feel that. I wanted to stand on a stage, microphone in hand, and have the crowd move with me.

The Power of Rock and Roll

Rock and roll isn’t just about guitars and drums—it’s about rebellion, passion, and connection. It’s about telling the world, “I’m here, and I won’t be ignored.”

Songs like We Will Rock You and I Love Rock ’n’ Roll by Joan Jett weren’t just music—they were cultural earthquakes. They gave teenagers an outlet, a voice, a sense that they belonged to something electrifying.

I started reading everything I could about rock history—the rise of Elvis, the Beatles’ revolution, Led Zeppelin’s power, and Queen’s theatrical genius. I found out that rock wasn’t a single sound; it was a feeling. And once you caught it, you never let it go.

My First Concert

Two years after my uncle introduced me to Queen, I finally went to my first live rock concert. It wasn’t Queen—they hadn’t toured in years—but it didn’t matter. The stadium was alive with noise, sweat, and electricity.

The moment the lights dimmed, the crowd erupted. When the drummer hit those first boom, boom, clap beats, I swear I almost cried. Every single person—strangers, friends, young, old—was united in rhythm. For three minutes, we were all part of the same heartbeat.

Passing the Torch

Now, years later, I’ve passed that same experience on to my little cousin. I pulled out my uncle’s old vinyl player, dusted it off, and placed that same record on the turntable.

The familiar crackle filled the air. Then—boom, boom, clap.

Her eyes lit up exactly the way mine had all those years ago. She smiled, started stomping along, and I realized something: rock and roll isn’t just music from the past—it’s a living thing. It travels from generation to generation, always finding new ears to inspire.

I love rock and roll because it isn’t just about entertainment—it’s about connection, history, rebellion, and joy. It’s about songs like We Will Rock You that make you feel unstoppable, even if it’s just for a few minutes.

And every time I hear those three simple beats, I’m that twelve-year-old kid again, sitting on a worn leather couch, discovering the sound that would change my life forever.