It’s a fairly common story, up to a point–malcontent growing up in the 80s becomes spellbound by the electric guitar. Lives and breathes rock music of all shapes and sizes. Devoted to his bands throughout high school and college. Music is his life, his entire identity. Wants to make it big like only one could in the pre-internet era of the music industry.
Despite his staunch reluctance to grow up, “real life” takes hold and the Fenders are put to rest in the far reaches of a dusty coat closet. A musical identity crisis ensues (to compensate, he starts painting and writing). He doesn’t know what music to like. What he used to like all seems like childs play now. He gets into jazz, but isn’t good enough to play it, so he simply becomes an admirer of those who do and did. 10 years go by. Jobs, kids, house, marriage–the usual. The musician gradually becomes a ghost.
Then something happens. A long overdue life changing event. The subject of which is too personal, too emotionally and psychically exhaustive to go into here. But, as a result, the Fenders are exhumed. Ideas he had rattling around in his mind 10 years earlier resurface and start to emerge as songs. He is given a four track. He needs some bass so he gets one and becomes a bass player. Needs drums so starts drumming, needs lyrics so starts writing, needs vocals, a recording engineer, and so on. He starts to become what he, even his previous life as an aspiring musician, never thought he’d be: a songwriter. A songmaker, really.
That was 5 years ago. He has not stopped since. He has 6 albums to his name (admittedly of varying production quality) and he doesn’t even know how many songs, 40…50. He writes and records all the time. Music is his life again. He hopes you enjoy what he has done so far.