"Duck and cover," said a familiar voice as dawn slipped through my bedroom window.
"Stop that!" I told Princess Amy, who has recently taken to waking me with meaningless greetings every morning.
"It's a balmy 68 degrees with clear skies," she announced right on cue. "Let me remind you it's too early to debate the merits of classic rock bands while we walk."
I groaned. "What?"
"You brought it up last night," she reminded me. "Something about writing a blog post on the greatest rock band of all time? You waxed manic about it after your third cup of caramel espresso."
That explained the vague recollection of holding court on the subject of guitar solos while Ms. Wonder looked on with a mixture of amusement and tolerance that has defined our relationship for years.
Shortly after our walk and a much-needed eight ounces of hair-of-dog, I found myself at Luna Caffè, laptop open, staring at a blank document titled 'Rock-n-Roll Royalty [BAND NAME]'. I couldn't decide which band deserved my eloquent defense.
"Working on your manifesto?"
I jumped at the voice. Lupe and Claudia had materialized beside my table, both clutching elaborate coffee concoctions that were works of avant-garde 'art-of-the-bean.'
"It's a blog post," I clarified, "about the greatest rock band of all time."
Claudia's eyes lit up. "Oh! That's easy. Queen."
"Wrong," Lupe countered immediately. "The Beatles."
I scoffed. "Please. Neither comes close to Led Zeppelin."
All three of us froze, eyebrows raised, the battle lines clearly drawn.
"Take a seat," I suggested, "and prepare to be educated on why Led Zeppelin represents the pinnacle of rock-n-roll artistry."
"This should be good," Lupe smirked, sliding into the chair across from me. "Let me guess—something about Jimmy Page's guitar wizardry?"
"Among other things," I said defensively. "But primarily, Zeppelin created a perfect fusion of blues, folk, and hard rock that—"
"That they often borrowed without attribution," Claudia interrupted. "Meanwhile, Freddie Mercury had a four-octave vocal range and wrote 'Bohemian Rhapsody,' a song that literally everyone on the planet can sing along to."
"Overplayed," I countered.
"Timeless," she corrected.
Lupe cleared her throat. "While you two argue about bands that peaked in the '70s, let's remember that The Beatles changed music forever. They evolved from 'I Want to Hold Your Hand' to 'Octopus's Garden' in just a few years."
"First," I said. 'Octopus's Garden?'"
"Best song ever," she said.
"It's Ringo," I said, thinking no more need be said.
"Ringo's my favorite," she said.
I gave her a look to indicate that there was much more to be said after all, but it would have to wait. Then I got back to the subject at hand.
"Evolution doesn't equal superiority," I argued. "And let's be honest—after they discovered LSD, half the Beatle's songs sound like they were written by whoever was highest that day. Ringo on the day in question is my guess."
"You're one to talk about chemical influences," Lupe retorted. "How many cups of coffee fueled this blog post idea of yours?"
A woman seated at the next table glanced up from her dog-eared copy of "High Fidelity" and nodded appreciatively at our debate.
"I think you're all missing something," she said.
"Oh, yeah?" said Lupe, letting us know that her feathers were ruffled and she wasn't in the mood for bilge.
"The best rock band isn't about technical prowess or even innovation," she explained. "It's about which band makes you feel something profound every time you hear them, decades after you first discovered their music."
We all fell silent, contemplating her wisdom.
"For me," she continued, "it's The Rolling Stones. Not because they're objectively 'the best,' but because 'Wild Horses' still gives me chills every time I hear it, even after all these years."
"That's very insightful of you," I observed. "Do you practice mindfulness?"
"Unceasingly," she replied with a smile, and I immediately realized she wasn't one of your average caffeine fiends.
"By that metric," Claudia mused, "maybe we're all right?"
"Absolutely not," I said.
The debate continued through two more rounds of coffee, spanning everything from album sales to cultural impact to the day I swore I'd seen Robert Plant buying organic kale in the Harris Teeter on Oleander Ave.
Driving home, listening to 'Stairway to Heaven,' I reflected on our spirited discussion. The beauty of rock-n-roll—of all art, really—is that it touches us in special ways, becomes intertwined with our personal narratives, and literally serves as a soundtrack to our lives.
Maybe there is no 'greatest band.' But there's certainly the band that speaks to you, that makes you argue passionately in coffee shops and defend guitar solos to teenagers who think your musical taste peaked around the same time as your hairline.
As I crossed the Memorial Bridge, the sun setting over downtown Wilmington, Jimmy Page's guitar solo soared through my speakers. For a moment, everything aligned—the music, the view, the memory of friends debating something that ultimately didn't matter but somehow meant everything.
And isn't that what rock-n-roll is all about?