I have had this place in my heart for rap since I was 16. Getting down with some Bone Thugs and Harmony, 2pac, DC Talk, and of course some Gospel Gangstaz. I know it’s crazy, but I liked some stuff from all of them. When I would listen to rap music I felt like I could beat up anyone even though I didn’t have too. A simple blank stare would scare anyone off, so long as California Love was playing in the background. I learned to play the drums while listening to and playing to DC Talk, Audio Adrenaline and Newsboys. These were also a little more accessible in our house, because my mom felt like if you were listening to bad music you were bad.

So few of my friends like rap music, they are very few and far between. I am listening to some as I write this article and my buds have this look on their face like “is this going to happen all night?”. It may, but probably won’t because I care what they think, kind of… now onto Ace Of Base.

What will I do about listening to rap music? I will continue to let it fly in my iphone shuffle playlist because it can be the perfect compliment to some “new metal” or snuggle right up to some “piano rock”. I will roll down the windows and blare that stuff… till someone walks up beside me, then I will turn it down so I don’t get beat up. While sipping my gin and juice!

The life of the hired guitarist is at times an interesting one to say the least.  Many tasks are expected from you as the hiree and the performer.

You are expected or required to have (sans the ability to play your instrument of course) professional equipment that won’t fall apart after 2 shows, a “marketable” appearance, the workings of how things operate at a gig/performance, and a positive attitude.  After all… you do get paid to do this.  It is your job, not only to play guitar every night, but to play guitar well. 

There are other postscripts and additions that coincide with the position of a hired guitarist.  What really separates a guy who will get the job done from someone who is far and beyond perfect for the position? 

After 12 years of being a professional guitarist and doing everything from studio sessions to multi-national tours; I have (humbly) tried to pinpoint these things that separate the mediocre from the excellent in the field of the hired guitarist.

One:  Be completely open initially to the bands intentions, attitude, and interactions.  This is a must.  This is something that can’t really be taught- you must sit back and observe where you fit as a hired gun when conversing with the band.  The fine line of playing with the band and being a member of the band is not exactly as easy to interpret as it may seem.  After months in the van/bus and another couple in the studio; one may think that he/she has the right to have a say in how band business is handled.  This is a most certain and impending doom for you and your job.  If you are asked your opinion of the new album artwork or if this song’s tempo is too fast, by all means give it.  But be cautious in raising your voice during a heated discussion amongst the band members.  The band is THEIRS.  They got the band where it is without you, and if they had concern for your input they would ask.   

Two: Be very aware of the image of the band.  Is this a super-strict Christian band?  Or is the band endorsed by Jager and Trojan?  Usually this is rather obvious from the onset of the position; but I have been in an act where a contract was enforced upon me (signed and sealed) to forbid me from cursing, drinking, smoking, and taking the Lord’s name in vain in front of fans.  Strict?  Absolutely.  But monetarily it was very rewarding (and also served as a two month vacation for my lungs and liver.).  Some bands are incredibly fickle (no long hair… no visible tattoos… no pink items of clothing… etc); but some are more lenient. 

Three:  Be aware of your sound/stage performance.  Do the members of the band act like mentally impaired 4th graders on crack while performing?  Or do the band members expect you to remain relatively still and play everything perfectly in time with the pulsating click track in your right ear?  Also, don’t put every distortion box in creation on your pedal board if you’re playing with a more mellow act.  Yes… it looks amazing and expensive… but you will be more than tempted on many occasions to turn at least three or more on for that solo part that should be waaaaaaaaaay quieter than what you are about to make it.  It is all about knowing where you fit in the band’s audio spectrum and selecting equipment to get you there.  Don’t bring out the two 4×12 cabs if you are heading on tour with Norah Jones or John Mayer… for goodness sake use your combo amp and save yourself (and the other band members) a few chiropractic bills later on down the road.

Four:  Go above and beyond the call of duty when it is your turn to drive/sell merch/load in or out.  The band will see this extra effort and will (hopefully) recognize that you do care about your job and want the best for the band/tour.  Laziness has no place for the hired guitarist when it comes to these things.  This is the unspoken part of your job that must be performed well or your reputation will suffer severely.


Five:  Talk to fans as if you are a proud member of the band.  More often than not this is easier said than done.  Some kids go absolutely crazy over something that you are now somewhat apart of.  Embrace them and make them feel like you love what you do.  Sign every autograph (at nauseum) even when the other band members are no where to be found.  This is making a kid’s dream come true; and you never know if you just shook the future Stevie Ray Vaughan’s or Steve Vai’s hand.  Be as humble as humanly possible (even though you do have the overnight drive in a few hours), don’t take your position in the “spotlight” for granted.  This is yet another unspoken but absolutely necessary part of your position that will (hopefully) put you in good graces with the band.

After that amended list of the five do’s (or do not’s rather?); it brings me to my most recent fill in job that turned into a more permanent fixture in my guitar playing life—HE IS LEGEND.

A rather odd occurence (and I will herald the almighty Myspace for this one) in me procuring this position.  After current guitarist and primary song writer Adam Tanbouz contacted me about the vacant position; I found myself in the place of that negative “here we go again with another tour”.  That disappeared when the name of the tour was shortly mentioned near the end of the conversation… ”THE PEANUT BUTT TOUR”.  See above step 2.  I thought “so maybe this band isn’t really as uptight as some others I’ve been associated with”.  I even think there was a brief talk about getting JIF to sponsor the tour… a big Keanu Reeves “woah”.  Not Jager.  Not Trojan.  Not PBR.  But JIF Peanut Butter. 

But even with those feelings in the back of my head (of the lack of up-tightness), I worked harder than I ever had before for a tour/band.  A lot was demanded from me mentally, physically, and musically; but I found myself not only loving every second of the tour; but also relishing in the friendships that were forming as a result.

Adam and I were the coffee and guitar nerds of the tour.  It was usually our mission after load in to find the best cup of iced coffee the town had to offer. I think Seattle won.  And I think we are probably the worst in the universe for tweaking and re-tweaking our guitar amps/pedals.  Adam is a rather soft spoken individual; but everything he says is quite meaningful and precise.  I admire him as a player and writer, and would walk through any ghetto in the nation with him due to his rather menacing initial appearance. 

Steve and I enjoyed one thing and one thing only.  Sarcasm.  We never failed to use it to the fullest extent at a moment’s notice.  There were a couple of times where our air drumming became incessant on the over-night drives; but it was all to keep us from ending up capsized in a median (which actually happened when I was driving—entirely different blog there).  Being that Steve didn’t play to a click (metronome), it was rather difficult for me to initially play with him.  But as I found out more about him and his personality I was able to see more into his musical performance on drums as well.  And Steve really likes cats, the mandolin, and Queens of the Stone Age with a passion.  And there was that one time in Shelbyville…   probably one of the funniest dudes you will ever meet.  

Schuylar Croom is one of those individuals you immediately take notice of when he enters a bar/restaurant/church/ballroom/bathroom.  An amazing writer with a huge affinity for porkskins and cheese omelets, we spent many of our conversations on the more simple things in life.  This was a bit surprising to me as Schuylar is an incredibly in-depth individual with a view of the world like few you will ever meet.  But regardless of such things… we talked mainly about cooking and foods… and of course our unearthly obsession with video games.  I don’t even think we turn off our Xbox 360s anymore.  Also a phenomenal performer and lyricist… an excellent memory of my very first show was getting smacked on my left ass cheek with a magnolia leaf during the opening song… this most certainly confirmed my theory of the afformentioned Step 2.

MattyWheelFaceDoomChair.  Ahhhhhh Matty.  Matt was my ”bunk buddy” (and “drinking buddy”)—meaning that when the hotel rooms were given out… I was sleeping with Matt.  Matt loves to sleep.  If a nuclear explosion were to happen right after an earthquake that produced a marching band of rabid wolverines… Matt would still be asleep.  Soundly.  But I really love this dude (not in a sleeping with him way though).  We had some really dumb conversations about life… and some really excellent conversations about life.  We were both stage right—and had a few nights where his ridiculously long hair would become entangled in the headstock of my guitar.  Great memories of me looking up at Matt’s cringing face just screaming ”STOPSTOPSTOP!!!!!!!”.  We developed a part in a song every night where he would also intentionally bite the headstock of my guitar.  Yes. Complete with teeth marks.  Great guy that’s hard to hate.

Well passersby… hopefully I have given you an insight of what’s it like to be a professional fill in guitarist for HE IS LEGEND.  After the tour the band asked me on board full-time; so I suppose hard work does pay off after all.  As far as what to physically “do” about filling in with any band… just practice, work, have a good attitude, and have fun.  That’s why we should all be doing this “music” thing anyways.  Looking forward to letting you all hear the new tunes and seeing you out on the road. 

Much Love 

Worth

Now we’re in the studio, you’ve recorded the song, done maybe a scratch vocal, taken it home and given it several listens.  At first, this is exciting hearing a song recorded and then reality sets it.  It’s all bad, you’re washed up, you’re through.  You call the rest of the guys (or girls) and ask their opinion.  One guy loves the parts you hate, the other guy only likes his parts, the other hasn’t listened to it yet, but overall no one really likes it enough to release the song the way you’re doing it now.  You think maybe better tone, or a better vocal performance will fix it, it wont.  So you start over.  New vibe, new parts, maybe a few elements from the last version, a vocal maybe or a bass line, and its getting better.

So this new vibe you’ve come up with, you see it through to its fruition.  You’re all very excited.  For a night.  Then it happens again.

“too much stuff going on,”

“the vocal isn’t good anymore,”

“the old version rocked, whats with this?,”

“the song isn’t doing what its supposed to,”

“not enough stuff going on,”

“you know, i think some keys would work,”

“what if we take out the guitars here,”

“what if we just delete the drum tracks,”

“do you like what you did there?  im not that into it.”

So every single option is exhausted to the nth degree until you are at least 60 percent of where you want to be.  You’re happy for a week maybe, then one person has one very small problem, and the whole process starts over again.  Finally, it’s suggested to strip out everything but the acoustic guitar and that crappy scratch vocal that has “so much soul” happening.  You’ve finally arrived. So my advice on recording?  Don’t complain, don’t be sensitive, and deal with it.  You can’t always paint the “hands of the peasants” on your first try and you’re most likely not going to just jam out

“with or without you.” Great art comes from a place that doesn’t make sense, and often you only discover that place through trial and error.  Good luck and do something beautiful for the world.

(hopefully now our manager can understand why it takes us so long to complete anything)

-Jarrod (In Reverent Fear)

Person:  Steve?

Me: What?

P: Hey dude, sup witchu?

M: Just chilling my good sir

P: So, I heard you just filled in for Every Time I Die on drums, from January 9th to February 5th.  What, did Mike “Ratboy” Novak hurt his back or somethin?  Like tryin out for the Buffalo Sabres or somethin? 

M: uhh, yeah. Weird that you know that…

P: Oh, and I bet you had to learn like 12 or 13 songs.  What did they give you, a week to learn them?

M: Yeah, who told you?  It was 12 songs.  They’re real awesome though, the songs that is, not the dudes IN the band.  Wait, the dudes in the band are great dudin’ dudes too.

P:  Cool, sounds like a swell time.  Were the other bands good?  Oh nevermind I don’t really care.

M: See ya later, square!

And on it goes.  So now I’d like to impart some of my new found wisdom about what it’s like to tour with ETID, in case this kind of opportunity comes up for anyone else (playing drums for ETID, that is).  When you first get the call, it’ll most likely be from Andy “if that fart was a dude, he’d ride a skateboard” Williams, their hair-covered stage left guitarist.  After giving him the a-ok, you’re in for a 3 day wait for the set list they want you to learn for a tour that starts in 9 days.  It’s cool. Do not panic.  Don’t even panic. Plan your next week accordingly: wake up, walk around your house and anywhere else you want to be (for me it was downtown), and listen to ETID nonstop until about 4.  Then whayergonwannado is go play along to all the songs on repeat and shuffle, I recommend those little white ipod earbuds under some gun-muffle headphones (to drown out your drums-a-ragin).  Also, 24 oz cans of Colt 45 are really helpful, my dosage was 1 can every break.  You’ll be fine.

When you get to Buffalo, make sure to try and fit in with the locals as smoothly as possible, people can be really cranky and territorial when their city touches Canada.  Try using sentences like:

‘Go Sabres!’

‘Go Bills!’

‘Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo!’

‘More chicken wings!’

Speaking of, the guys in ETID really like chicken wings, especially from Buffalo Wild Wings.  Which says a lot about the B-dub-dub.  I mean, people from Kentucky seem fairly indifferent about KFC, and you can’t even find an Outback Steakhouse in Australia.  But, I digest, err, digress. (get it? wow)

Once you get the set down and start feeling comfortable behind Ratboy’s Paul Frank knife-covered skull-encrusted drum kit (you’ll probably skip one part of one song the first night, but correct that mistake on night two, only to miss a completely different part later in the set), you can finally enjoy the finer things on tour, as well as watch a sweet ETID show every night, only from the back.  Who knows, you might even take shooters on stage in say, oh, Ft. Wayne Indiana, where girls are known to show their tatters to the bands just before being crowd-surfed into a trash can.  Maybe that trash can was there between the crowd and the stage, but i’m willing to bet that bin was dumped onto the crowd and surfed to the front just before the babe arrived.  As far as the “finer things”, I of course mean being sandwiched in a van between Britches “loft hog” Whatever His Last Name Is and Josh “Old Man Newton” Newton’s spot, known as “Old Man Newt’s spot.” Or listening to Howard Stern.  Constantly.  Even when the van’s off.  Because with Jordan “You lose your mind, dude (in a deaf accent)” Buckley behind the wheel, that’s what you’ll hear.  I guess the only other occurrence you’ll notice, is that Biggie “Biggie” Somethin Or Other can really work out alot, and still manage to Tour Manage a tour like he was running a plantation and the tour was a well paid, worry-less slave that didn’t have to do anything except eat, sleep, and play my drums.  What?  Biggie is as buff as he is organized is what I’m saying is the thing. 

Oh and one more thing, Keith “I’m the lead singer of an important, influential hard-core rock band” Buckley helps load in and out, will sleep in the loft or the floor, and doesn’t mind driving a lot, but he’s still always funny.  ALWAYS.  That, and he received via crowdsurf on the tour:

a hot dog with ketchup and mustard

a slice of pizza

a hat

a hot dog with ketchup and chili

an entire rack of shots in test tubes

a recently emptied trash can

a topless girl for said trash can

I hope this was helpful for all and any potential fill-in ETID drummers.  I’m sorry to say this advice and suggestion list is very band specific, so unless Ratboy hurts his back again, (we’ll say maybe cheering on ‘Wolf’ during a broadcast of the new American Gladiators”, everything you just read is useless.  For one helluva rock show, check out Every Time I Die as they headline the Take Action! Tour, Ratboy included, and get ready to head bang to He Is Legend’s new tunes coming soon.  I mean it.  You’ll head bang so hard, you’ll later quietly admit, “I just headbung.”

God luck and good speed,

Steve

In my line of work you meet a lot of interesting people. Some more interesting than others. It seems that these days the average music fan feels that it is necessary to “out weird” the musicians in hopes that they will be remembered by the people they hold so dearly. Now I understand how these words may make me seem like a bigger snob than Sean Penn accidentally walking into Wal-Mart . But I assure you that I do my best to be kind to all of the people who hold me in high regard. However, I can’t quite understand what I have done yet to be put on that pedestal… other than growing a pretty respectable beard, in which case, upon shaving it off, received much criticism from the fans under the age of 20. I am very grateful to be loved for my exquisite facial hair, but after a certain point you start to feel less like a person and more like a character. For that I wish I would have made a different decision.

With the phenomenon of Myspace and Facebook paired with cell phone technology, the camera phone is now a must have for concert goers of today. At the site of their favorite rock and roller these kids whip their cameras out like the Guns of the Navero. I find it nerve racking to pose for a pixelated camera photo so I try my best to make a different face for each picture… offering the kids a truly unique photo that is all their own. Depending on the genre of music that the show consists of, some kids may be sweatier than others. In this case, rather than putting my arm around the shoulder of the sweaty teenager to show that we have developed a common bond, I would suggest that we all hold up the “Heavy Metal Horns” or the ever popular Peace Sign.

Often times some of the older males at the show will not want you to touch them at all. This comes from the stigma of “being hard” or proving your manliness in the photograph. This can be judged by their greeting, which usually consists of the token 4 part handshake that ends with the fingers snapped off of each other. Also, you will notice these males by the way they dress… usually a black T-shirt of an unknown band paired with basketball shorts and unusually well groomed hair which is often accentuated with a sweat band of any color. These photos are usually taken quickly and are painless. But the facial expression is key for both parties. You must produce the feeling of friendship but also keep a stern look into the camera. “Heavy Metal Horns” are also used in these photos, Peace signs are usually prohibited.

When being photographed with a female, you must be prepared to take the photo many times from numerous angles. The plus side to taking photographs with the girls is that they usually have a proper camera. However, the flashes will blind you if you are not careful. Often times females will want to take their picture with you and no less than five of their friends. This will be very time consuming because each friend has to have a different variation of the photo on their own camera as well as a shot with just you and the camera owner.

The group shots are simple. You must show no favoritism to any single girl in the group. Often times this would be my cue to be lighting a cigarette when the picture is snapped… or sneaking a sip of my beer to offer a candid feel to the shot. When the photo is of you and a single female you must devote all of your attention to her. You can judge by the persons attire as to how close to stand, or where to put your hand. Be sure to keep one eye on the boys that are close by as they may be said girls boyfriend. Usually they are standing close to you, or even the picture taker… arms crossed, concerned half smile. Give him a wink to ease his mind. This could actually gain you another fan.

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How can you talk about being at a rock show without speaking about drugs and alcohol. The people under the influence of these things can hardly open their cell phones, much less find them the moment they spot you. They have waited all month to come see their favorite band and will stop at nothing to meet them. This usually is when they come up to you asking numerous question about the band they came to see. “Oh man how is it hanging out with Blank. I bet he blanks all the blank.” This is the time that I like to make up stories about the person in question. “Oh yeah, you should really try his pineapple upside down cup-cakes. They are out of this world!”

If it’s the case that the user is a fan of your band you must take time to stand and listen to what they have to say, no matter how hard it is to understand. If you seem irritated or in a hurry you may offend them and offended music fans tend to start an uproar. It may not be instantaneous, but remember that little thing called the internet. Message boards are no new thing, and they can crank up faster than Paris Hilton in an In-N-Out bathroom. One false move and you will be labeled an A-hole by every Tom, DIck and Harry on the inter-web.

FInally there are the “Self Proclaimed Weirdo’s”. These fans will stop at nothing to be remembered… using any number of tactics to throw you off guard. “Can I lick your face?” or “Will you sign my nipples?” are just a few that i have heard in the past. Also, when I had a large beard the comments were overwhelming. “Can I have your beard when you shave?”, “Can I put your beard in my mouth”, or my favorite “Can I live inside of your beard?” Responses may vary depending on your case. Usually giving a realistic answer is the best way to get them to act normal. “No you may not live in my beard because I don’t think that it is physically possible.” or “No, you can’t lick my face, I am a human being. I don’t let strangers lick my body.”

Sometimes you can just stare off into space and create the illusion that you are extremely out of your mind on drugs. Spouting off comments about “large frogs crawling out of your hair”… like Wakem Pheni did… or as I have done, mention the energy balls that are floating around your weirdo fan. This tends to leave them feeling as though they have lost the weirdness battle because you are on a special planet all your own.

Don’t get me wrong. I actually enjoy meeting fans, but sometimes you just got to get it out there. Talk about the things that make you feel uncomfortable and find a way to have it make you stronger. So the next time you find yourself bombarded with camera phones and sweaty kids, embrace it, enjoy it, and have a little fun with it. Who knows, you could actually find an easier way to pass the time at a show.

*this article was featured on September 26, 2007

This article was written by our friend Adam Tanbouz

What to do about death metal…is this even a question? I suppose it is now, because I’m writing this short essay, however, it’s a question that I’d rather leave answerless. Why? I dunno, maybe it’s cuz it’s a dumb question, maybe its because it’s not relevant to anything at all, maybe it’s because this question is so far outside the realm of logic that it simply can not be answered. Since the dawn of time many artists have made the claim that logic and art are like oil and water, however thanks to science we now know that its more like shampoo and conditioner. In a world where absolute truth is often difficult to obtain, one things for sure: death metal is pretty cool sometimes.

Paragraph one, accomplished.

     Now its often easy when talking about a certain genre of music, to assume the position of an elitist music snob. I like to call this the grandfather syndrome, where one claims that everything genuine in the particular scene is dead, and that the glory days are long gone. Only die hard veterans can appreciate the true meaning of their particular type of music genre…this is especially true within the death metal scene, however I don’t want to do that here. I’m not here to debate whether or not Kerry King (guitar player for Slayer) knows how to even play the guitar or if Manowar was awesome or “gay” for wearing loincloths and dressing like cavemen from outerspace. One could lament forever about the virtues of Pete Sandoval (drummer for Morbid Angel). I’m not here to take part in that (but for real that dude was sick)…erroneous. So the question remains…what is my purpose? What am I trying to accomplish writing all this? Let’s explore shall we? Take a walk with me into the future, the future that is paragraph 3: the final paragraph.  

Paragraph 2 complete.

                                                    (guitar solo)

    I’m glad youve decided to join me, before I get any further, let me restate the thesis so we can….

                                                 (2nd guitar solo)

   …alright well that was bound to happen, anyway what to do about death metal? Well I’m afraid like many of the universes mysteries this question cannot be answered definitely, certainly if you enjoy death metal, you could listen to it, however death metal has served countless other purposes throughout history. In the gulf war of the 90s, the US military blasted death metal through large PA systems to root enemy snipers out of hiding…cheeky, America. The 90s was also a time that saw death metal on the big screen, who can forget the memorable scene in Ace Ventura when Jim Carrey wanders into a nightclub only to find none other than death metal icons Cannibal Corpse thrashing away some hesh-ass windmills onstage, totally brutal. In summary, death metal is basically a bunch of hot angry middle aged dudes playing as hard and fast and loud as they possibly can all in the name of Satan or something, and I feel like we can all agree that that’s what America is all about… or something.  What to do about death metal? Suck out the mids and turn it up.
*this article was featured on September 20, 2007

Oh what to do, what to do. Maybe I’ll start every article with that phrase. So, if any of these other dipsticks use it, you’ll know they’re bitin’ my rhymes.

So, what to do about your love for music. Oh, love. I see someone waltzing through a meadow, spinning in circles – completely, and utterly in…. love. The phrase, “Love makes you do crazy things” has never made as much sense to me as it does in this context.

Many of us have a deep-rooted romance with music. Music is powerful. Music narrates portions of our lives, so much so, that the instant you hear the first note or two of a song, you are instantly transported back to that place. “Youth Gone Wild” by Skid Row instantly takes me to our childhood home, in our bedroom, listening to my brother’s tapes. “Honey, Won’t You Open That Door” by Ricky Scaggs takes me to the backseat of my parents’ friend’s Chevy Blazer, on the way home from the Fair — Blue interior, dark night, the smell of cigarette smoke, that song. “The Freshman” by Verve Pipe takes me to my eighth-grade year in school on my way to becoming a freshman myself, along with all of the heartache that happened around that time. “Black” by Pearl Jam, and listening to my brother explain to me what that song was really about.

What music does to us is tremendous. I’m finding myself without the adjectives that can truly describe what the power of music is. Music is a higher-power in itself. Music is it’s own type of spirituality, and so many of us are true believers.

I am one of these believers.

I began my pursuit at the ripe age of thirteen. Zach was possibly the greatest friend I will ever have in my life. Since around second grade, the two of us were inseparable. We just “clicked”. We were both stand-out artists in our grade, and Zach had an earring – so that upped his cool-points, and mine also – just for being around him. I guess I received “contact” cool vibes from Zach’s dangly left earring. As we got into middle school – we became more and more obsessed with this new beast of a genre called “Alternative”. Freakin A. These guys were wearing sweaters, destroying their guitars, being dirty. We wanted in. We religiously listened to Weezer’s Blue Album, Nirvana’s “Nevermind” and “Insesticide” (and I just now realized that the word “Incest” was in the title – Obviously, I had no idea what incest was back then, and I wish I didn’t now.) Pearl Jam’s “Ten”, Sublime, 311, Beck, Bush, so on and so on. We were living it. It was what made us feel alive, it was what “did it” for us. So we did what any thirteen year old in his right mind would – we started a BAND!

Well, we had a band name.

No instruments yet, no songs yet, no shows, plenty of eager members (none with instruments), oh, and I had already worked up a few logos on the back of my notebooks. We were almost there.

Our closest friends were default members of the band. 48 Hackys was one of the first band names, because we played with hacky-sacks, and 48 was a cool looking number. Our buddy Steve offered the name Stainless Stall, along with a notebook full of reworked versions of popular songs. He had a song inspired by Bush’s “Glycerine,” and by “inspired” i mean he switched out about 15 words to make it his own. He did the same thing with Kansas’ “Carry On My Wayward Son”. I still cannot figure what the heck he was thinking.

But one day Zach was blessed by the rock Gods with this beautiful pea-green guitar. He was a natural, and he obsessed over learning to play the guitar well.

And so it began.

As the number of band members whittled down to a feasible amount. Only, the ones with instruments made it in. Zach, with his green guitar, Me, with a horrible voice – but plenty of charisma, and Chad. Chad’s wardrobe embodied everything great about the nineties. He had cardigans, woolen sweaters, slacks – he even wore Old Spice cologne. He was a 85-year-old man, living in a 13-year-old’s body. Plus he had a guitar, and parents who didn’t mind if we rehearsed in Chad’s bedroom. At night. With a single wall separating us from his sleeping parents. To this day, I still cannot imagine how they managed to sleep through that.

We were influenced by colorful bands, bands that had fun, bands that acted stupid, bands that had easy songs. We needed easy songs, because we had a guitar, another guitar that was tuned down to sound like a bass, and me rambling.

I remember our first song. It was more of hoe-down music than a song really. Four power chords, one riff, and a lot of passion. Our first gig was at school, during one of the last days of our eighth-grade year. We had some odd assembly in which we had a chance to perform our song – “Comfy Chair.” That’s what we called it. Comfy Chair. I was obviously influenced by my immediate surroundings when I came up with the title for that one. We sucked, but it was so much fun. The type of fun that was contagious, and we knew we were tapping into something.

One day I overheard a guy talking about his cat having kittens. He mentioned all of the names of the litter, one of which being Static. Static. Ooh – that might be a cool band name – Static. Static became the first official band name.

Chad was on great terms with many of the people at his church. We were friends with the pastor’s two sons, Nate and Tim – whom you may recognize if you look around this website long enough. Chad was able to get us into the church’s youth building, where there was some music equipment, including a drum-set. A real drum-set. The only problem was that Zach, Chad, and myself were thirteen, and thirteen-year-olds can’t drive cars.

But Josh, Chad’s older brother could.

We arrived at the church, and began making noise. Josh, who didn’t want to drive home, only to come back to pick us up, hung out. More specifically, he hung out behind the drum-set. We asked Josh to keep a simple beat to keep time. He did that, and then some. Josh was good. Really good. In no time, we formally asked Josh to play drums in our band. Reluctantly, he said yes. Hallelujah. Our band was born. We wrote our first real song that day, entitled “Do You Know Who You’re Talking To?” It was a song with a bit of spiritual connotation – as there was an enormous painting of Jesus pushing himself off the ground with a cross on his back. With a mural that large, I couldn’t help but mention JC in our song.

We were on a high. We had written a song. A real song. To our thirteen year-old ears – it was a masterpiece. It gave us this whole other level of satisfaction and excitement that everything else that we had held of such great importance paled in comparison to our new love.

Our new love.

Now, I could continue with about thirty more chapters of the life and times of my band, but I won’t. None of it matters as much as what I already told you. I just gave you the most important part.

We stayed a band for a decade after that. We played shows. Signed a record deal. Sold over a hundred-thousand records. Got popular. Played countless national tours. Played Overseas. Self-destructed. Rebuilt.

And then one day I just didn’t want to do it anymore.

That love, that high that began with that first real song had fizzled out somewhere along that ten year period. All that was left was a man who wanted to be a normal guy for once. To wake up next to his wife every morning. To detach myself from whatever it was that the band had turned into.

See, this love I had for music grew. It blossomed into something bigger. Something that many would call better. But it wasn’t better. It was just a different version of what we started at thirteen years old. Sure the music got better as time went on, but that wasn’t really the point. All the point needed to be was to keep loving music the way you did when you began. To maintain whatever spiritual connections you had with music, and concentrate on getting that high over and over again.

When a musician’s career grows, they build a team around them. The team does everything they can to push this artist or band into their “full potential”. They help get them signed to a label, and push the label to properly promote them to the public. Many bands want this. My band wanted this. My band wanted to be the biggest band in the world, so any opportunity that would help us get “bigger” was one that we would gladly take. It all began to feel very much like a competition. “Big” was a relative term, and to get there, we needed to surpass our peers. If our peers were surpassing us, then we were losing this competition, and everything became about getting ahead.

This is the nonsense that killed my high.

The competition had nothing to do with the love I had for music. Even now, I struggle to find that feeling that I had back then. When I think of my career in music, I think about all of the nonsense that made me lose focus of the love, not the love itself.

What you have to understand about your “love” for music, is just that – the love. The feeling you get when you write a guitar riff, or when you add a melody to the words that express how you feel at that time. The single reward for any artist is the moment they feel what they came up with was creative, expressive, meaningful and from their heart – not anyone else’s.

That’s it. But it’s enough to build your whole life around.

When you can be proud of song, because it’s from you – that’s the high that made you love music in the first place. That’s the single reason that you devoted your life to it. Thus, that’s the only satisfaction you should ever need to feel like what you did was worthwhile.

If you are chasing a music dream for financial gain, you are already on the wrong track. The quest towards financial stability is like kryptonite for a musician. It kills everything that you love about music, and diverts your attention away from the spiritual connection you have with your music. Your most personal line becomes a “hook”, and you become a product. The urge to sell the product is possibly the exact opposite impulse of the one that you create with. Something about this “pursuit” sucks every ounce of life out of your music until one day, your standing in a studio, singing some of the most cheesy stuff you have ever heard – because you know it will sell.

Don’t allow yourself to get to that point. Good music has no correlation, whatsoever, with popular music. Devote yourself to good music.

Letting the love be the ultimate authority – that’s what to do about your love for music.

*this article was featured on August 24, 2007