People are starting to panic. “Oh my God, did I get little whozit or big whozit or old whozit or the child whozit a Christmas present worthy of the sampled celestial choir going ‘AHHHHHHHH’ like baby Jesus just dropped in for brunch?” And then the tag. “You won’t tell me what you want so I’ll just go buy you some stuff.”
Please. I don’t want stuff. No more tools, I have enough to do any job around the house four different ways. I have shirts. And shoes and pants and sleep pants and no more jackets and I don’t wear ties. I might like a replacement for the bedroom Logitech remote that I want to throw against the wall as hard as I can. But I’ll do that off-holiday time. No more stuff. Nothing cute or warm or functional or useful or even fun. What I want for Christmas isn’t on Amazon or Jet or L.L Bean’s or Neiman’s (that’s a joke for all the rich people who troll this blog). Nope. Because what I want for Christmas? I want me some of that Rock Star Hair!
Really! I mean look around. Regular dudes, where does our hair go? Some guys get to keep theirs, but most of us? Adios. This year I want to replace all the fa-la-la-la-las with follicle-la-la-las. Now there are some considerations, and a gazillion choices. Take the Pekingese on Sir Elton John’s head. No way. The Keith Richards look I can get in a day after Halloween half-price sale in the Frankenstein costume bag. The same with Alice Cooper. The other day I saw an interview with Robbie Robertson of The Band fame and I swear I could have taken that Teflon thing off his head and cleaned a nasty three-day old college dorm room sloppy joes skillet with it. That may be Dylan’s hair, but still. When rigor sets in I’ll see if I can borrow him to clean my chimney. I was driving down the tollway the other day, big ol’ billboard for Styx at a casino. Look at all that hair! And the color! How does a guy get a gray goatee and oxblood shoe polish color hair? And lots of it? One of them, his hair is the exact same style and color not found in nature as this woman I know who is a “spunky” seventy. Which is about right for Styx. Because they had greatest hits records out when I was twenty and I’m, well, old enough to remember “Light Up” and what they were talking about.
Most of the country guys all get hats until the plugs grow in and to keep the weaves in line. Probably a good idea, because that unnatural hairline looks a lot like a green onion garden. I remember seeing Al Di Meola right after some plug work and he kept that hat on until he started talking about it. Springsteen was working my skin skull cap back in the Nineties, and all of a sudden after a year of hats, hair! And Opie still wears a ball cap. Check out Franz’s hair in the header picture. Some kind of unnatural symmetry in that hairline.
Some don’t even bother to make sure their hair matches the graying stuff around their ears, like Billy Ray Cyrus and that earlier deal with Robertson. I mean you’d think Hanna Montana’s dad would do her proud, right?
I am a seriously big Jeff Beck fan. The guy’s guitar playing and support of female artists and causes makes all old guys look good. But the same hair since ’65? It’s starting to look like a furry hipster’s beanie.
Others go full on black like Gene Simmons or some other solid color like Chuck Norris. But that’s one guy I will never tell how messed up his hair is. Because an episode of “Walker, Texas Ranger” changed my life. Not really. Because Chuck may be old and his hair maybe looks stupid, but he’s a badass. I won’t give Paul McCartney any grief, either, but not because I’m scared of him. My wife still remembers him fondly as the “cute” Beatle. Which goes right to Ringo. All that jet-black hair and beard. The guy is how old? And Steven Tyler? Jeez. What sort of system is that? Do the feather ear rings come with the weave or help anchor it? Does he wear it to the grocery store? With the spandex and leather? All he needs is an overcoat and he’s the cover of Aqualung.
The TV and movie guys really have it wired. Probably because they have a line on the make-up and prop people. Captain Kirk has been wearing nylon hair and man Spanx since the first Star Trek TV show so I won’t go into Affleck and Travolta and Sheen ad nauseum. And women complain about airbrushed cellulite and the photoshop squeeze and facial close-ups that would made a fresh peach feel ugly. Hey! Dudes get dissed everyday for not having underwear model abs and hair that would rival Daniel Boone’s coonskin cap.
How can I be old and old rock star cool without the hair? Not that it would make me cooler or thinner or hit the Bowflex to get old guy buff more often, but I’d have it. Hair! No funny color, just what is, only more of it.
Well, that’s a lie. When I really get down to it and take a long, hard look I realize the truth that Patti Smith and Grace Slick have shown us all. When you still have a lot of your own hair and are over a certain age, regardless of gender, we all start to look like Jerry Garcia. I mean before he was dead. Or was Gratefully Dead, but not…Anyway.
I think if I can’t get Rock Star Hair for Christmas and grow old with a big ol’ stash of vanity, I’ll have to admire the cats like Billy Joel and Garth Brooks and Sting and James Taylor and the others who just give it up and shave it or live with it like it is. Be one of the ones who “Let It Be.” And you know, it’s still cool if it’s gone, I guess. Because sexist cliché persona that he is, Dapper Dancin’ Fool Dave is one smooth, horse smiling, Vaudeville grade, old school rockin’ dude. Forget the screams and high notes (they’re long gone), forget the old hair (because it’s gone) and the fur coats. Now it might be the wrong color, but with what’s left of his own hair, let DLR and some rock stars with (maybe) their own gray hair hook you up with those Christmas sugar plum fairies in your head and “Dance the Night Away.”
Who needs hair or your old voice when you know a good guitar player? Nose Band Aids optional. Gift cards for rock star hair are now being accepted.
If amidst all this recent mandolin driven melancholy Emo lyric Americana and children pretending to play retro psychedelia you’ve forgotten what electric guitar sounds like?
Merry Christmas. And for the New Year? Turn it up to 11 whether you can dance or Santa brings you rock star hair or not. And all you old guys, remember; even rock stars are smart enough to wear pants with a skosh more room.