Rock Rocks

All is clear at last. Now we see why Robert Hilburn used up so many precious Calendar pages with his enlightening article calling for a new name for rock ‘n’ roll (“Rock ‘n’ Roll: Is It Time for a New Term,” Nov. 8).

Not that he was concerned with--Springsteen forbid!--the music. No, what concerned Hilburn was not the image of rock, but the image of his own self-infatuated ego.

It wasn’t enough that Hilburn set himself above the rest of us by placing his own musical taste on a higher plane than ours. It wasn’t enough that we had to learn the errors of our rock ‘n’ roll ways: Music as simple entertainment, sans the social consciousness of Bruce or Bono? How droll!

No, Hilburn had to tell us more. Not only is his music above our own, but ours is beneath the dignity of a common vegetable (or is Couch Potato Rock a tuber?)

Geez, Robby, ain’t you the smart one. Wish I had your brains. But I’m glad I don’t have your taste in music.

DAN MOLITOR

Burbank