When I was 12 years old, I fell in love with Mick Jagger. I celebrated my new boyfriend, hung posters of the Stones on my walls and bragged that my rock star was hotter than yours. I was taunted and teased because this wasn’t the 60s and Mick was old enough to be my father. But let’s face it, my father’s not that cool and neither is yours. Mick Jagger had became the symbol in which to pour all of my energy, the crazy pubescent hormones that seemed to be taking over. I know I’m not alone in my rock star passion. For the fan, the sexual energy brought to the stage doesn’t go unnoticed, and usually it’s the front man who embodies this
An appreciation for the music came later as a way to connect to a man that only lived in my fantasies. Steve Almond, in his memoir Rock and Roll Will Save Your Life, says that songs, “remind us that emotions are not an inconvenient and vaguely embarrassing aspect of the human enterprise but its central purpose. They make us feel specific things we might not have felt otherwise.” The lead singer is the one who awakens us, and if he happens to be wearing tight pants (or hardly anything at all!) how can we help but to fall wildly and madly in love?