Best 245 quotes in «rock and roll quotes» category

This is serious business, sex, violence, and rock and roll.

This song ain't black or white and as far as I know it don't infringe on anyone's copyright.

Well all of Chuck's children are out there playing his licks, get into your kicks. Come back baby, rock and roll never forgets.

Tonight I am going to defecate on stage because I think that is the only way to express the nature of my soul according to rock and roll.

Videos destroyed the vitality of rock and roll. Before that, music said, "Listen to me." Now it says, "Look at me.

Well, all rock and roll is based in artifice.

We [The Replacements] formed as a rock and roll band, and that was the path we chose to take. Whenever we deviated from it we felt, unless everybody was into it, there was tension.

We're here to re-dedicate you to The Power, The Passion, The Mystery, and The Ministry of Rock and Roll.

What are you gonna fill your life up with when you don't have that ultimate satisfaction or peace in your life? You try to fill it up with wealth, pleasure, honor, power, sex, drugs and Rock and Roll to try to feel good.

We've got great fans that rock and roll won't have, because you can have a one-hit record and country music used to, not so much anymore and you have a fan forever.

And I like Strauss and Mozart and all that, but the priceless gift that African Americans gave the world when they were still in slavery was a gift so great that it is now almost the only reason many foreigners still like us at least a little bit. That specific remedy for the worldwide epidemic of depression is a gift called the blues. All pop music today-jazz, swing, be-bop, Elvis Presley, the Beatles, the Stones, rock and roll, hip hop and on and on- is derived from the blues.

When Paul and I were first friends, starting in the sixth grade and seventh grade, we would sing a little together and we would make up radio shows and become disc jockeys on our home wire recorder. And then came rock and roll.

When people talk about the '60s I never think that was me there. It was me and I was in it, but I was never enamoured with all that. It's supposed to be sex and drugs and rock and roll and I'm not really like that. I've never really seen the Rolling Stones as anything.

When Van Halen started out, there was no path to fame. We just played what we liked. Even today it always comes down to the simplicity of rock and roll.

You might be a rock and roll addict prancing on the stage. You might have drugs at your command, women in a cage.

Aging is scary but fascinating, and great talent morphs in strange and often enlightening ways.

When buying a used car, punch the buttons on the radio. If all the stations are rock and roll, there's a good chance the transmission is shot.

When he feels the world is closing in, he turns his stereo way up high. He just spends his life, living in a rock and roll fantasy.

When I first got famous, Greg Dulli was also just starting to cook with the Afghan Whigs, and because of the MTV awards I met Dave Grohl and Nirvana and all these rock and roll bands. So I had experience with what it was like when people were taking off at that time.

You can fool some of the people part of the time in a rock and roll song, fifty million Elvis Presley fans can't be all wrong.

You know, I guess there's enough information out there to support that I'm a crazy, wild dude and rock and roll and this, that and the other. And there's enough information to support that, you know, I'm a single father, that, you know, has been a pretty standup guy in his community and pretty private about that stuff. But it's on both sides.

And a ride in a hearse tells us we’re all close to that final cruise . . . when the body dies and we move on. It’s just the body, man. It’s just the body. The soul’s already gone. So don’t be afraid of a dead body absent a soul. It’s empty, man. No resident. What you need to worry about is a living body that’s lost its soul. Now that is scary, man.” - Funk N. Wagnalls, owner of the Grim Reapers auto lot, a character in Professor Brown Shoes Teaches the Blues.

A real musician ain’t gonna choose his own guitar like an evil master choosing his slave. The guitar will choose his master and when he does, you’ll know it.

But tonight, this is what I can give you. I can offer you the vault of heaven, the firmament of the stars in the sky, and me

Because some things in life just hurt so much that you need to feel physical pain to start to heal from it.

But as we all know, rock ‘n’ roll will never die, and education too, as Henry Adams always sez, keeps going on forever.

Decadent self-expression has no place in rock and roll.

Don’t beat yourself up, son. I’m sure there is a culture on this spinning ball of dirt where you can be pretty. If not, do rock ‘n roll, or practice words. That shit’s pretty as well.

Does he know you’re with me? Does he know about me? Does he know we fuck each other in our dreams every night? ~ Ripp Collins

Graham: Rod told me I needed to cut out half of my solos. Said they were interesting for people that loved technical guitar work but boring for everyone else. I said, "Why would I play to people who don't care about good guitar?" He said, "If you want to be huge, you gotta be for everybody.

Even more than music, rock-and-roll is sex.

He would return again and again to the same themes over the years, with different details and different emphases, but always with the same underlying message: the inherent nobility not so much of man as of FREEDOM, and the implied responsibility - no, the OBLIGATION - for each of us to be as different as our individuated natures allowed us to be. To be different, in Sam's words, IN THE EXTREME.

Groupies will give you Chlamydia, Edward.” “Right, Virg. Groupies throw underwear on stage. They don’t throw flowers.

He shook his head at her question. Did women really think men cared about that stuff? Did he care if she did this all the time? Definitely, definitely not. He could honestly say he did not give a flying fuck whether this girl dragged guys home every other day to have her way with them for seven hours. He was just glad as hell she’d decided to do it with him. Today. And hopefully maybe again. Sometime.

I bet if cancer of the penis was more prevalent there’d be a cure for this fucker. I bet if dicks were being amputated or dropping off left, right and centre there’d have been a cure decades ago. There’d be a whole fucking government dick department dedicated to it.

I don't know how music works, I'm just glad that it does.

I'm forty-two," he said. "That's eighty-four in musician years.

If I've got a Dad, and his name is Wormwood Rot, and he's in some heavy metal rock band called Grave Dirt . . . then I'm definitely meeting him! She stares at me awkwardly, and I'm about to ask again—maybe even insist—when she says, "Honey, why do you think he's on the news? Wormwood, I mean . . . your father? Becca, he's . . . dead.

I had tried marijuana several times, but in the words of my friend and longtime assistant Janet Stark, “When I smoke pot, it makes me want to hide under the bed with a box of graham crackers and not share.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, a sure-fire way to impress this girl, who was as cute as hell but wound tighter than one of his father’s antique clocks.

I remember when Elvis died. I wrote my sentiments with words of a little girl in my dear diary, "Many people wanted to see his body. They literally wanted to dig his bones out just to make sure that he was being buried. And I could not understand why. Why people could not leave him alone and let his soul rest in peace." I couldn't get it. I didn't grasp it at that time. In a head of a little girl it was hard to believe that there were mysteries to be solved. That there ruled a conspiracy theory that people thought it was odd that he was buried and the casket was never opened. They didn't believe he was dead! Oh yes. Elvis Lives! And as the world needs his songs, his words, his thoughts, his love, his light more than ever before.

I soaked my soul in Rock and Roll

I suppose I took comfort in the illusion that I could go back. But I'd been around long enough to know history is sealed and unchangeable. You can move on, with a heart stronger in the places it's been broken, create new love. You can hammer pain and trauma into a righteous sword and use it in defense of life, love, human grace and God's blessings. But nobody gets a do-over. Nobody gets to go back and there's only one road out. Ahead, into the dark.

It never was about the musician or the instrument - it was about the laser notes in a hall of mirrors, the music itself. It was going to change the world for the better and it has. Maybe not as fast or as much as we wanted, but it has and it still will. Whether your name is Mozart, or Django Reinhardt, or Robert Johnson, or Jimi Hendrix, or whoever is next; who you are doesn't matter so long as you can open that conduit and let the music come through. It is the burning edge, whatever it sounds like and whoever is playing it. It is the noisy, messy, silly, invincible voice of life that comes through the LP on the turn-table, the transistor radio, or the Bose in your new Lexus that makes you want to get up out of whatever you are stuck in and dance. It is Dionysus and the Maenads all over again. No one can control it and I pity whoever tries. I am old now and only a house cat sunning herself in the window - but I was a tigress once, and I remember. I still remember.

Julia had been angry most of her life. She may have grown up in wealth and privilege but she’d had to fight to be heard and seen. To be validated. To be something other than a piece to be moved around her parents’ Monopoly board. Rage had given her a voice against their manipulations and the guts to walk away. But it had also become ingrained. There were times when she’d contemplated therapy for it. Right now, she was pleased she hadn’t. If anything could kill this cancer it would be the weight of Julia’s wrath.

It's theology. Were you expecting sex, drugs, and rock and roll?" "One out of the three would be nice.

It was a crypt where music played to masses of the dead, and McJagger was their desolate pharaoh, a walking mummified king. I remembered it well.

Just hold on.

Jo mūzikas radīšanas pamatā jābūt cilvēku saskarsmes vai atgrūšanās spēkam vai sāpēm. Vai arī visiem kopā. Jo savā dziļākajā būtībā mūzika ir sekss. Trubadūri zem logiem dziedāja, lai pievilinātu daiļavas ar savās vīrišķīgajās iekarotāju balsīs dziedātajām sirdi plosošajām serenādēm. Sievietēm ir radītas seksīgas balsis ne jau tādēļ, lai tajās lasītu pārtikas receptes vai deklamētu pantiņus par dzimtenes nodevību. Lai gan - kāda starpība, ko sieviete deklamē vai dzied, ja viņa spēj ar vienu skaņu, parādīšanās mirkli vai gaistošām smaržām modināt vīriešos iekāri! Mūzikas skurbulī cilvēki metas dejā un sadalās pa pāriem, lai pret rītu iegūtu viens otru. Vismaz viens no abiem to vēlas vienmēr un melo, ja saka pretējo. Pasaulē valda viens vienīgs sekss, apreibināšanās un rokenrols.

Kid's little binges, his forays into intoxication were affecting everyone now. They were affecting their goals and dreams. They were affecting Natasha. She was probably drinking just to deal with him.