From an early age I've had a thing for metal.
As in, heavy metal. The first song I heard that made me realize this was "Rumble," by Link Ray. The growling same two chords, thumping to an incessant beat, both invoking the menace and the seething that gets my motor running, in a head-out-on-the-highway, kind of way.
Fast forward to "Highway to Hell." Now that speaks to me. Sure I love the Beatles and the Stones and Eric Church and Chris Stapleton, but when push comes to shove, it's hard to beat that Aussie band of brats.
Speed Metal, not so much. It's a bridge too far.
Last Thursday I ran into a female millennial order-taker at Janie's Coffee Shop and she was wearing an AC/DC T-shirt. As she finished my order I commented on the shirt and asked her if she was a fan. She said she was and, jokingly, I told her she was going to get a bigger tip because of it. She smiled like waitresses do with old men who think they are funny.
When she delivered our food I asked her what her favorite AC/DC song was and she drew a blank. She looked flustered and she couldn't name one (in that moment it became blatantly apparent to me she was just wearing the damn shirt and didn't have a clue about the band). I wanted to tell her she just lost her tip, but what I really said was, "Young lady, you are on a highway to hell."
"Hey, grandpa, get off the stage!"
—Old Vaquero Saying