Try to name someone in rock 'n' roll who is both balding and cool. And before you say "Phil Collins", let me remind you that the Brazilian pubic stripe atop his Charlie Brown dome is simply a high hairline and not any indication of male-pattern baldness whatsoever. What. So. Ever. Just ask Phil, he'll set you straight.

Chances are, then, that you can't name anyone. You can't really count guys like Michael Stipe or Billy Corgan either, because they've gone into full Moby mode, disguising their horseshoe helmets with crafty razor work. Anyway, Moby's about as rock 'n' roll as a tampon commercial–which is about the only marketing opportunity he hasn't jumped on to date. (The proliferation of the modern penis-head man, however, I place squarely on Moby's aerodynamic melon.)

Speaking of the groin region, CanCon has-been Kim Mitchell has finally ditched the Riff-Raff-in-a-ball-cap look and gone boldly alfresco, resulting in his startling resemblance to a topsy-turvy testicle–and a hairless one at that. Besides, perma-hats don't fool anyone; there's a reason no one has seen the territory above The Edge's eyebrows since 1985, and it isn't because the U2 guitarist comes from a long line of milliners.

It's a simple fact: rock 'n' roll and a thinning thatch just don't go together. A good head of hair is almost as important as even a modicum of talent. You don't have to be pretty and you certainly don't need a brain, but you sure as hell better have a decent 'do. From Elvis's pompadour to the Beatles' mop-tops to today's carefully coiffed bedheads and fastidious faux-hawks, hair is as integral to rock 'n' roll as rampant narcissism. No amount of leather pants, Flying Vs, or lip-curling attitude can possibly trump the hair, and once it starts going, the hapless hair-shedding rocker's options are extremely limited. It's an unforgiving business, ostensibly a young man's game but increasingly accepting of visible ripening: you can develop a middle-age spread and sport all manner of crinkles and creases, but watch that hairline, Pops. Unless, of course, you're Keith Richards, in which case none of the rules apply. Not only could he go completely James Taylor tomorrow, he could start wearing a big, bulging diaper on-stage and he'd make it look like the coolest thing since drowning in your own vomit.

So what's a budding cue ball to do? If it's no dice on the hat, what about a hairpiece? Let's face it, that's actually worse than bald. The risk of looking silly and vain is just too great–take a gander at Elton John. Luckily for him, he's made a career out of looking silly and vain, and his hair tribulations are the stuff of music-biz legend, from plugs to rugs and every follicular stop in between. Plus he's a pork chop. Pork chops clearly don't give a shit about looking cool, otherwise they wouldn't be pork chops.

Yet there are worse things still than wigging out–like a comb-over. "Hello, my name is David Lee Roth, and despite the fact that I look like an eccentric Jewish accountant, would you believe that I used to be the lead singer of a real swinging rock 'n' roll combo?" Swinging, I tell you. Ol' Zircon Dave isn't alone, either; Paul Simon's been fudging his fringe since big scarves were popular the first time round, and the less said about Axl Rose and whatever the hell's going on under that bandanna, the better–way better.

It must be hard on these guys to see old saddlebags like Robert Plant and Mick Jagger girning away under their heavy hair loads, to watch Rod Stewart flicking playfully at his only slightly depleted haystack, or to gaze in rapt befuddlement upon the ludicrously luxurious mane of Brian May. Or maybe everyone's just as delusional as Phil Collins. After all, ego still rules the world of rock 'n' roll, whether you're a testicle or not.