We were the loudest generation.
Not because we had the most to say—
but because we had no idea who was listening.
Our gods didn’t sing in tune.
They screamed through amplifiers and shredded leads like their lives depended on it—because sometimes, they did.
We were raised by riffs.
Our gospel was printed on liner notes and buried in distortion.
We bought albums for the art, and waited all day to tape a single off the radio.
This is a book about the wall of sound that shook our bedrooms, rattled our parents, and gave us a voice before we even had one.
Hard rock. Heavy riffs. Grunge and glam and thrash and everything in between—
The Loudest Generation is a love letter to the guitar—to the records that saved us, the bands that shook us, and the solos that still lift us when nothing else can.