SURVIVAL IS VICTORY
I have never been what you might call a “casual fan” of music. I was the nine-year old boy, shaking his hips in the pale blue TV light, trying to parse together Michael Jackson’s dance moves from his “Thriller” video. I was the 12-year old who borrowed his grandpa’s video camera to film music videos with his friends, putting on his best rock n’ roll sneer possible while singing into a hairbrush taped onto a broom handle. I was the 14-year old who biked the shoulder of a state highway to get to the local record store and peruse the latest releases each Tuesday. Once back home, I would Frisbee my purchases in through my open bedroom window, and then saunter into the house “empty handed,” concealing the depth (and dollar amount) of my musical obsession from my parents.
Twenty years on I am a professional musician, and though I still like to think of myself as that music-obsessed teenager, like any junkie I suppose it just takes more to get that same rush. Some things I used to love no longer hold me in their sway (anybody want to buy 150 Grateful Dead bootlegs on cassette?), and I am harder to impress when I hear something new which, frankly, I think myself or one of my friends does at least as well, if not better. Still, I crave the simple joy I got when I first started going to concerts to see my musical idols in the flesh. Sitting close to the stage as I could, I would be hypnotized by fingers flying across guitar necks, and hoping to collect a discarded pick or broken string off the stage as a keepsake.
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