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While listening to Daughtry's debut album, there's a moment when I shed a tear. It usually comes somewhere between the opening hard rock of "It's Not Over" and the acoustic sap of "Home."
No, I haven't been overcome by Daughtry's blatant tugs at my heart strings. I'm shedding a tear because I honestly feel sorry for the guy. You see, Chris Daughtry is a rock 'n' roll poseur. In his head he's the second coming of Billy Joel or Dave Grohl. But really, he's more likely to be grouped with Rob Thomas and Chad Kroeger. But that's OK.
Such is the life of a cock rocker. Millions of people buy your albums and turn out for your shows, but only half of them will actually admit to liking you. And hell, I'll say it here — Daughtry, I really like you. But I'm not playing your music in my car with the windows down.
For decades music fans have loved them some cock rock. And with Darien Lake gearing up for one cocky summer — including a show featuring Nickelback and Hinder on Friday, July 10 — perhaps it's time to celebrate this little thing we call cock rock.
The Urban Dictionary defines it as music that "overlaps with blues rock, Southern rock, hard rock, and arena rock, but what ties it all together as cock rock is an egocentric, tough-guy swagger and lots of ridiculous macho posturing."
In the 1970s it was the product of great musicianship (Led Zeppelin; The Who), and in the '80s it was the stuff great parties were made of (thank you, AC/DC and Motley Crue). However, in the early '90s cock rock was pushed aside for grunge. Ironically, it was one of grunge's biggest bands that gave cock rock the rush of blood it needed. Pearl Jam might have been too credible and dark for the cock-rock label (maybe), but that didn't stop tons of singers — from Kroeger to that dude in Hinder — from wanting to sound like Eddie Vedder.
Nowadays — based on the Urban Dictionary's definition — you could make the case that 50 percent of rock music is potentially cock rock. And artists like Foo Fighters and Kings of Leon are in danger of getting grouped in.
Take the song "Sex on Fire," by Kings of Leon, for example. It fits all the criteria. For me, any simple hard-rock song with vague references to sex, rock 'n' roll or life on the road is essentially cock rock. Yet, if you ask someone if "Sex On Fire" is cock rock, nine times out of 10 they'll say no. Probably because they like it, and if they like "Sex On Fire," they have to admit that they like cock rock.
There are ways that bands can avoid having their music labeled as cock rock, though:
Be depressed. Radiohead's "Creep" would one of the great cock-rock songs of our time if it wasn't so gloomy. Cock rock should never make you want to kill yourself.
Don't write hits. This is a single-oriented music industry, and any rock hit is subject to the cock-rock debate. Be very good or very indie. You'll never see a band like The White Stripes or TV on the Radio labeled cock rock. Jack White's considered a guitar god, and in terms of TV on the Radio ... well, the indie kids just wouldn't stand for it.
That being said, there is nothing wrong with cock rock. For all its self-righteous, vague lyrical content and lack of substance, it's simply meant to make the whole world sing. If Barry Manilow can do it, why can't Kings of Leon?
Oh, and yes — "Sex On Fire" is cock rock.
