In this final installment of my series on musical influences outside of classical music, I want to return to the genre that shaped my formative years as much as (if not more than) the cello did: rock. Specifically, 1970s rock—what I consider the golden age. You can talk about any decade's contributions to the genre, but the '70s gave us something honest, gritty, and artistically daring. From bluesy swagger to progressive storytelling, this era continues to inspire me, both artistically and creatively.

At the center of my affection for this time period is AC/DC, particularly their early years with Bon Scott. Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap remains a quintessential blues-rock album in my collection. Scott's charisma as a frontman was unmatched—his voice wasn’t just raw energy; it told stories. There was irony, danger, and humor in his delivery. You felt like he knew something you didn’t. In contrast, Brian Johnson, who replaced Scott after his death, brought a harder edge. He's more of a straight-up rocker: all punch and grit. Still, it’s with Johnson that AC/DC produced my all-time favorite track: “For Those About to Rock (We Salute You).” Those cannon blasts? Iconic. When I step on stage—whether I’m about to “Ba-rock” or “Rach 2“—that’s the energy I want to channel. I even paid tribute to this song in one of my recent solo cello compositions.

Though I already devoted an earlier article to Queen, I’d be remiss not to mention them again in the broader context of 1970s rock. Their fusion of glam, blues, and progressive rock stood out in its boldness and theatricality. Meanwhile, Pink Floyd offered something far more introspective. For me, their top-tier albums are Wish You Were Here and The Wall. The overture to The Wall, “In the Flesh?” is an underrated gem—so much power in that opening. Of course, “Comfortably Numb” remains a timeless piece of art. It’s no coincidence that many of my favorite songs—from Pink Floyd’s ballad to Queen’s “Death on Two Legs,” AC/DC’s anthem, and even Guns N’ Roses’ “November Rain”—are in B minor. It’s also the key of Dvořák’s Cello Concerto, a work that defines classical cello repertoire. Coincidence? Maybe. But the expressive range of B minor is undeniable.

“Shine On You Crazy Diamond,” Pink Floyd’s extended tribute to Syd Barrett, is another standout. At over 25 minutes in its complete form, it’s essentially a tone poem, worthy of comparison to Richard Strauss. The layered textures, thematic development, and sense of lament are deeply moving. It’s proof that rock can carry the same emotional and structural weight as the great works of classical music.

Moving into the 1980s, Guns N’ Roses is a prominent fixture in my musical world. “November Rain” and “Don’t Cry” sit at the pinnacle of 1980s rock ballads. While I appreciate Bon Jovi and Van Halen (and I’m always happy to have a friendly discussion with fans), it’s November Rain that stands out as a true rock rhapsody. The opening section speaks to the true introvert. Then comes the voice of reason in the final climactic section: “Don't you think that you need someone? Everybody needs somebody. You're not the only one.” (Probably an allusion to “Somebody to Love” by Jefferson Airplane).

The 1990s brought a wave of alternative and post-punk flavors. Fountains of Wayne may not be as heavy as the others I’ve mentioned, but their clever songwriting and storytelling struck a chord with me. Their track, “Sink to the Bottom,” even inspired a passage in my solo cello piece, Koheleth, symbolizing the futility of human striving and the cycle of everyday life. I’ll admit, some of their songs haven’t aged particularly well—but who among us doesn’t look back and cringe at something?

I also listen to a lot of Radiohead, The Offspring, and Red Hot Chili Peppers from that decade. Each of these bands offered something unique—melancholy, angst, experimentation, or sheer energy. Their work reminded me that emotional honesty doesn’t need to be confined to sonata form.

Let me be clear: my appreciation for these bands and artists doesn’t mean I endorse every lyric. I appreciate the musicianship, storytelling, and emotional depth they brought to their art, just as I do in any genre, including classical.

If you’ve followed this series, I hope you’ve enjoyed getting to know a different side of me. The music I’ve talked about here—rock, jazz, folk, and beyond—has been part of my life for longer than I’ve been a cellist or researcher. It’s not something I hide. But if you only know me through my scholarly articles or pedagogical writing, you might never see this side.

Music, like people, is multi-dimensional. And sometimes the best way to understand someone’s work is to understand the soundtracks that shaped their lives.