Ahh, to be an aging rock star. What better possible way could there be to live out one's golden years than trying vainly to relive one's golden youth? Leather pants, screaming groupies, pharmaceutically enhanced machismo. The Dennis Hopper-endorsed, carpe-diem boomer mentality has given second wind to bloated rock corpses the world over, acting as necromancy for the aging masses. Former frontmen, once living off residuals and the occasional mall opening, are washing their Celebrex down with single malt that was birthed before they were, limbering up in preparation to snatch your grandma's undergarments out of the air, mid-windmill.
Paul Rodgers has a lot of glory to resurrect, having served as the voice behind several of the disco decade's most iconic rock songs, and he's taking full leather-trousered advantage of the throngs of aging fan-girls who refuse to go quietly into shuffleboard retirement. Thanks to the generation that swore it would never get old, Rodgers gets to live his rock 'n' roll fantasy all over again. Kudos, Dennis Hopper.