At some point in the past, Sam GO – a barely pubescent, prematurely cynical asshole – felt suffocated by the daily drag of white middle class America: eat, sleep, study, repeat. It was discouraging, almost abusive. To cope with the inevitable collegiate/financial/spiritual anxiety, he wrote music, always aiming to galvanize, puzzle, and shock. At one point, he pantomimed masturbation on stage amid flourishes of f-bombs, essentially offending his high school band members away for good (or rather, offending away their financially indispensable parents/chauffeurs). The band broke up, leaving Sam with nothing but an unexplored psyche and a hard-on for irreverence.
In the years following, Sam GO medicated his existential loneliness with forays into composition, theatre, and multi-instrumentalism, all in search of a community that could coexist with the self-absorption flying just under his conscious radar. Eventually, when these hobbies lost their shimmer, he resorted to travel. With high school out of the way, he fled to South America for a six month stint as an ESL teacher in Lima, Peru, which would change his entire outlook on the world, right?
Wrong, because of course teaching sucked; it required passion as well as knowledge, passion that just couldn’t compete with his indulgent, probably-faux brooding. On his final day as a teacher, he performed what he felt would resemble a heartfelt goodbye to a small group of students whose names totally escaped him (this asshole didn’t even know the names of the kids who had allegedly changed his life). So, disillusioned with the whole humanitarian thing, Sam left his fraudulent husk of a teaching career to drink potent hallucinogenic tea with a shaman.
He guzzled, puked, and shat ayahuasca on loop for about month, apparently gaining some profound personal insight and taming the relentlessly self-effacing narcissism that had wreaked such psychic havoc in those distant, feeble-minded pre-ayahuasca days. While he did relish in that glowing post-ceremonial condescension that typically accompanies anyone in the beginning stages of a spiritual tradition, he viciously swerved back into his self-deprecating proclivities once he caught himself saying things like , “as a child of the cosmos” and “having risen above the apes,” etc. He more or less went back to his Old Self but with a few swanky new wisdom-nuggets that helped him reel in the ego he had initially sought to obliterate, as death – a hefty obligation Sam GO just isn’t willing to commit to – turns out to be the only reliable antidote for the disease we call Being Human.
So with a naturally introspective attitude and a newfound love for not-killing-himself, Sam GO figured that art is his best means of living what some people call a “good life.” For now, he aims to communicate the embarrassing, narcissistic, hypocritical side of humanity, hoping his listeners will think to themselves, “wow, I relate to that,” when they hear lines like “[She] was a prostitute looking to prosper . . . and she stole my weed. Poor me!” Even this bio exists primarily as a means of exploring the unbounded scope of human conceit, whether it be through music, film, or written word. So, Sam GO is overjoyed to welcome you to his immaculately conceived digital circle-jerk. Consume, enjoy, and repeat. I hope you die of pleasure.
SOURCE: Official Bio