Why the Stage Rarely Lets Go First –

In the wider world of work, conversations about retirement always circle back to productivity, economic strain, and the supposed fairness of passing the baton to younger generations. Every political cycle brings the same predictable suggestion that the retirement age should be lowered so younger workers can finally get a foothold.

Yet in rock, the idea of stepping aside belongs to another universe entirely. Suggestions of retirement are practically framed like insults. You only need to look at artists like Ozzy Osbourne or bands such as The Rolling Stones to see how deep the refusal to bow out is. Ozzy pushed himself back into the spotlight at moments when most people would decide to spend as much time as they could with their friends and family. The Rolling Stones feel inseparable from the stage itself, as if the only thing that will finally call time is the mortal coil. They’d probably have no reservations about being wheeled out on stage in their caskets. On the surface, it looks poetic, admirable even, but underneath the myth-making sits a far less glamorous story about a genre that clings to legacy with such force that it locks doors for those trying to come through after them. When you look closely at the labour politics of music, rock’s resistance to retirement mirrors the country’s wider structural issues, and the cracks can be seen everywhere.

The Myth of the Eternal Rocker

The refusal to retire has been romanticised for decades. Audiences cling to the narrative that rock artists are built differently, that they feel no fear, no fatigue, and no ceiling on what the body can withstand. That mythology sets everyone up to fail. For artists, it creates a suffocating expectation that they must grind their way through age, illness, or sheer exhaustion. Fans who grew up with them often demand the same version of their musical youth, no matter how much time has passed. For the industry, the myth becomes a convenient shield that obscures uncomfortable questions about where the money actually sits.

If you take the case of Dick Dale, you’ll see how bleak the reality behind the glamorisation really is. Dale was celebrated as the King of the Surf Guitar, yet he spent his 70s and 80s far beyond royal treatment on physically punishing tours, which became a brutal necessity. He was working through severe health conditions because he needed to cover medical bills. People often retell the story with awe, but lurking under that awe is a failure of social systems that pushed a legendary musician to fight through terminal cancer to stay alive. It is not the act of playing itself that felt tragic; it was the absence of any safety net. Rock culture shaped the narrative around stoic resilience, but the truth is that he was performing because he had no realistic alternative when he found that his insurance wouldn’t scratch the surface of his medical bills.

The Gatekeeping of Legacy

The other complicated reality is that rock has become an old boys’ club in a way few people seem eager to acknowledge openly. Of course, they’d only be met with accusations of bitterness and/or inferior talent if they did. It’s all a sanctimonious circle jerk, lubed up by radio stations which refuse to play underground and breakthrough artists in this era when legacy dominates everything. The biggest festival slots still go to artists who peaked before most of Gen Z were born, and most of the newer rock acts are confined to smaller stages on their headline tours, leaving the arenas and stadiums to artists who reached their peak decades ago.

That loyalty to legacy can feel comforting. It preserves lineage and keeps stories alive. Yet it also shapes expectations so tightly that younger musicians trying to create something without a retro filter end up treated like outliers. New bands who refuse to model themselves on 70s, 80s, and 90s tropes often have little room to breathe. Those who lean into pastiche get further, which explains why so many start-ups in rock still rely on the same recycled swagger, misogynistic lyrics, and old-school formulas. When the industry rewards imitation over innovation, it is no surprise that breakthroughs feel rare or that when a rock band does break through, they reek of nepotism.

A Career with No Off-Ramp

Part of the issue is structural. Rock is one of the few career paths with no established off-ramp. Most musicians never expect pensions. Safety nets are uncommon. The lifestyle is so precarious that stepping back can feel like a financial cliff edge. Even major artists face enormous pressure to keep touring, because touring is the only reliable income left. When musicians come from backgrounds where money was never a worry, the choice to keep going feels like passion. When they come from backgrounds without financial insulation, the refusal to retire becomes tied to survival.

That divide helps explain why watching older rock artists grind through gruelling schedules creates such a knot of emotions. There is pride in the commitment, but also unease. People admire the fire, but something feels fundamentally skewed when artists who shaped the entire DNA of modern guitar music still need to throw themselves around on stages in their 70s and 80s to pay their bills. The industry thrives on nostalgia, but nostalgia has become a trap. It keeps the older generation working long past the point where rest should be a right, and it blocks new talent from escaping the chokehold of heritage worship.

Where Do We Go From Here?

If rock is to evolve, the culture around retirement and legacy needs a serious reshaping. I’m not suggesting putting everyone over 60 out to pasture, but maybe it would be nice to reject the romantic framing of eternal youth and endless stamina. Rock musicians aren’t immune to bad backs, dodgy hips, thyroid issues and arthritis.

There are phenomenal young rock artists scattered across the UK right now who aren’t relying on nostalgia or macho posturing, yet breaking through feels like hacking a concrete wall with a teaspoon. The industry has to stop curating the landscape as a museum and start treating it as a living ecosystem.

New festivals need to take risks. Radio needs to rewire its priorities. Fans need to stop waiting for clones of their teenage idols and start engaging with the next wave on its own terms. And somewhere in the middle of all that, the idea of stepping back from the stage has to lose its stigma. Retirement should feel like a transition, not a defeat. Rock’s greatest icons will always loom large, but they shouldn’t have to hold up the entire infrastructure until the final breath.

Article by Amelia Vandergast