Picture walking into a party, stepping through the door you see the lofty tweed stature of Jazz gazing your way. Despite the judgemental, santicmonious and ever pretentious stares you carry on further in. The slow din of the music gradually gets louder, when a well dressed man comes out, looking his nose down at you potentially with theatre spectacles, his name is Classical. Bred from the misunderstanding of class segregation in music he is in a word a toff. Opening the door you see R’n’B getting down to it with Rap whilst Drum n Bass is raving to itself in the corner. Your attention then is drawn to the garden. Walking down the hallway into the green playpen, you see him. Stood atop the roof, Jack Daniels in hand, shirtless and mid jump off his slate podium landing triumphantly in his leather pants, that, well that idiot is Rock ‘n’ Roll.