![]() My eyes scanned the shelving, desperate for something to stand out. But I thought, ‘these guys, in these bands, were from around MY hometown!’ These bands were tangible. If you were in a band at all, you were already living my dream. “Rock,” “Jazz,” “Rap.” I remember one of the sections had a hand drawn label above it. I moved quickly through the aisles, mumbling each marker as I passed the corresponding section underneath. I was Charlie in the chocolate factory every time I was in there. Flashing lights and sounds coming from every direction. Genres and genres, and on further into sub-genres, all out on display. They had listening rooms and giant posters on the walls. They had everything that had to do with every kind of music and it was all over the place. Tower Records record stores were so fucking awesome! They were huge, and had multiple floors - levels upon levels of dreams coming true. I tell you this because it ends up being that moment that leads me to my awakening, my musical enlightenment, and my salvation. I remember my little sister cried so hard she was devastated. They laid in pieces all over the front yard. A few nights later, somebody destroyed those pumpkins. To her, they were like trophies out in front of our house. ![]() My sister was so little, and she was so proud of those pumpkins. We went home and each of us labored away on our carving. We had gone out and each of the kids in the family and both parents had picked their own round orange canvas. It was our first real holiday since the family had gotten a full grip on being a “well-adjusted” Chicago-style family we even had Blackhawks and Bulls STARTER jackets. My parents had decided that year to make a big deal about pumpkin-carving. Something perfectly ironic happens that changes my life forever. Have you seen Suburbia? It’s exactly like that, even though at that point, I’m obviously too young to realize that. It’s fall in the Northwest suburbs of Chicago. There is a “cool” table in the lunchroom, but I never sit there… ever. The montage ends as the kid version of me walks up to his brand new middle school. ![]() He’s a “hang out with his little brother” type of kid. In my head, I see a montage of a kid version of me moving from Florida to Chicago in the 5 th grade. I had no idea I had just met my best friend around the age of 7. The feeling that came over me was warm, powerful, raw, and–complete. This was a simple story about a boy falling for a girl. I understood in a way I had never felt before. A voice, a lyric, and a perfect equation had drifted into my ears. Light and sound flooded in, and the muffled noise became clear. My young body strained not to let the light in, but my curiosity begged to decipher the noise coming through my father’s 1980’s home stereo. I woke up that morning physically and mentally, but also consciously. I can still hear the muffled combination of my father’s voice belting out the Saturday chores (terrifying and amazing), and the mysterious floating melodies of a sound I was unsure of… The last collection of the night’s darkness still captured beneath in my blanket tent. I can feel the weight of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles comforter over my head and the density of the air below it. I know that perfectly average beige color and its tiny curls as if there were Polaroids laid out before me now. I can still feel the carpet on my face - the coarse hairs of a living room floor, well-weathered by the traffic of a young, blue-collar family. (Sorry, I’ll chill out with “side thought” parentheses) That being said, I wouldn’t trade my journey with anyone else living or dead (well maybe, Phil Knight, “Just Do It”…billion dollars…boom…swoosh). Ignorance is bliss ( Put me back in the Matrix. However accustomed I have become to the logistics of being an adult artist, it is bittersweet and difficult to transport myself to a time before innocence lost. I’m like a blind man being asked to recant the years before he lost his sight. Slowly (turning the grinder like I was winding a clock back in time), I prepare myself to visit the history before my present reality. So, here we go…I am unsure what going back in time will actually bring up, what it will allow to swell and bubble to the surface. Genesis (?) – Here are two stories about a beginning… There’s also a negative side.” – Hunter S. “The music business is a cruel and shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free, and good men die like dogs. Written by Joey “Chicago” Walser ( Devour The Day)
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