They had Jimi setting fire to guitars and the Hells Angels causing carnage at the 1969 Altamont festival. I tried to think of what the 90s had to compare with that and came up with Right Said Fred, the Scatman and Boom Boom by the Outhere Brothers.
Yep. It was all bobbins.
Then I tried to think of what was the nearest I ever got to rock ’n‘ roll in my life and it would probably be the two Glastonbury trips I did in the late 90s.
I went with three mates the first year and we were determined to scale the fence and avoid paying.
Of course we got there and it was 15ft high. We followed that fence for half a mile, before bumping into two West Country farmer brothers stuck in the same rut as us. Then as darkness fell we came across two chavs, who were charging £5 to help sneak people past a security gate. We paid and were in.
I remember looking across a huge field with 300 fires being lit around thousands of tents. It was like a medieval encampment fed by booze and cannabis.
That year I saw David Bowie emerge in a giant gold coat telling the crowd they had “a dirty face” while some biker in front of me waved a Confederate banner with a skull on the end of the flagpole.
We even saw Blondie, with Debbie Harry wearing a tight red dress she would have looked great in 20 years ago.
The second year we came prepared with loads of charity clothes. I’d bought some nasty lime green corduroy trousers and a shirt with a vindaloo motif.
My mates refused to watch Ocean Colour Scene so they went and saw Rolf Harris play his didgeridoo while I downed two bottles of vodka and proceeded to be rude to a group of girls.
Looking back, I don’t think we did too bad. Every generation feels their version of rock'n'roll is false or manufactured compared to the “originals” of yesteryear.
It may not have been Keef and Mick but at least we didn't have McFly on the set list.
Will Sutton is a reporter at the Gazette and will be giving another youthful insight next week.