My own discovery of rock music happened one summer in my early years in high school in the quaint provincial town of Tayabas, Quezon. I went back home with Axl Rose screeching in my ears, and a Kirk Hammet solo.
A few years later, in college, my roommate was still in that rock phase I started with, but he also worshiped the guitar gods mandated my guitar magazines, from bands like White Lion and Mr. Big.
This was hard to believe for me, even then.
Another dorm-mate was bragging about only buying CDs -when tapes where the standard- of Joe Satriani and Steve Vai.
I never got that. This was around the time I wanted to hoard all the local 4AD releases by Universal Records, and the sort of guitars I wanted to listen to was made by a band called Pavement.
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Crank – Catherine Wheel
Crank was a song from high school which I played on full volume all the time, that people thought I was holding parties. What? Me? Hold parties?
A few years after in college, I went full-on fan to a lesser known rock genre called shoegazer, where current huge bands like Coldplay owe their lives to. This was the sort of thing that was best translated in six strings for me, not virtuoso concept albums about aliens surfing, which eventually ends up a s the soundtrack to some random afternoon documentary.
Or porn.