Music, The Big Time, Sickness and Shock
It is with regret ... that I must out myself for even making this post ... the sickness is all mine, but the news couldn't be better. This is Martin, and yes, this is a very personal and, again, risky post. But I have nothing to hide, I love who I am, and I'm into radical honesty. Later, I'll talk about this insanely great, yet insanely difficult idea. Now, allow me to explain this cryptic mess ....
The first sickness, of MINE, is that I am making this post mainly in order to boost my temporarily flagging self-esteem, and show you that "I could have been something". Ugh. Oh, well.
Okay, I started playing guitar 42 years ago when I was 16. Before long I was hanging with a good friend from high school, who also played. It happens we were both, let's say, "soft", "innocent", and "loving". We got along fine, always loved each other and our growing cast of musical friends. This became "the first band"; the one that was probably mostly in it for the girls; the one that got into deep shit with a very strict physics master, for sneaking into the assembly hall, setting up a stack of guitar amplification, and letting rip with some not-very-nice heavy metal riffs. Ah-ha.
But bloody hell, did we have some fun over the next few years, since the band basically continued beyond high school, with my best friend/fellow guiarist's brother playing a fine bass guitar. Singers and drummers came and went. We had the right spirit an work ethic to think we might be the "British Van Halen", but, if you'll excuse this, we didn't "Finish What We Started". On a good day, with the wind in the right direction, we were probably capable of this - although personally, I don't enjoy Sammy Hagar, and of course, Eddie is a total monster player.
Well, time went on and my best friend and I found ourselves in all kinds of musical situations; me mostly on lead guitar, he also on lead guitar and bass and vox, etc.. There was our metal/prog band, blues bands, jazz bands, odd bands, and always, always jamming. Later, there were separate and solo efforts. But they were all strictly amateur, although we always dreamed of fame and fortune. Dreamers, we were ... not so much boldly going - damn.
Yet, do enough of anything for long enough, and of course you get pretty darn good. Such was the case as we parted ways - only because I decided to follow the Canadian girl I was in love with, and hit Toronto. My friend continued to play (I think), but took his graphic arts education seriously (possibly except when he appeared at art college as "Beergut 100" instead of the then-popular "Haircut 100". This consisted of him playing guitar and singing on stage, with a brown paper bag over his head. Another guy did something weird, but I don't recall what. It was very funny - even right now I had to pause for several minutes of belly-laughing. You had to be there. Hey, it was art college. Later that evening, I believe I threw up on, and passed out on, some fancy chair in the middle of some frat house or something. I can't say I made a lot of friends that night. Nor for several years, because I did all my serious drinking before I was 20. Well, most of it.
I feel this is getting off track, but I now feel obliged to mention that when we were all 18 years old, we recruited local cool drummer, and all round great guy Keith, from the "wrong side of the train tracks" (literally), and so began my descent into drugs. But not so much my friend - he often expressed concern for the recklessness which I still practice today.
Better speed things up. My friend turned his older self away from disappointment, and went back to being a musician, and of course, was very poor therefore. I turned myself into a husband, twice, got deeper into drugs, became mentally ill*, lost everything (a couple of times), and ended up as I am: Lost in Canada, and pretty fucked up. Cookie - crumbles - that's the way.
* I want to make it clear that its irrelevant whether drugs or mental health came first, since my whole family was, er, blessed to provide a guarantee of mental illness for me. I mean it was hereditary, presumably.
So, I wasn't getting much of anything done for a long while - I still don't. But my friend was plugging away, becoming the consummate musician. Here's the whole point of this ...
I just got word that he just signed a major record deal in the UK. Tomorrow, I will have zero dollars as usual, be eating at soup kitchens, and picking up cigarette butts to smoke. A slight disparity.
Now, I am THRILLED for my friend, and I don't really complain much about my life (much). But then there's this sickness ...
It's sick, but I am very, very jealous. Its all I can think - that it could have included me. Oh, dear.
Please, forgive me.
The first sickness, of MINE, is that I am making this post mainly in order to boost my temporarily flagging self-esteem, and show you that "I could have been something". Ugh. Oh, well.
Okay, I started playing guitar 42 years ago when I was 16. Before long I was hanging with a good friend from high school, who also played. It happens we were both, let's say, "soft", "innocent", and "loving". We got along fine, always loved each other and our growing cast of musical friends. This became "the first band"; the one that was probably mostly in it for the girls; the one that got into deep shit with a very strict physics master, for sneaking into the assembly hall, setting up a stack of guitar amplification, and letting rip with some not-very-nice heavy metal riffs. Ah-ha.
But bloody hell, did we have some fun over the next few years, since the band basically continued beyond high school, with my best friend/fellow guiarist's brother playing a fine bass guitar. Singers and drummers came and went. We had the right spirit an work ethic to think we might be the "British Van Halen", but, if you'll excuse this, we didn't "Finish What We Started". On a good day, with the wind in the right direction, we were probably capable of this - although personally, I don't enjoy Sammy Hagar, and of course, Eddie is a total monster player.
Well, time went on and my best friend and I found ourselves in all kinds of musical situations; me mostly on lead guitar, he also on lead guitar and bass and vox, etc.. There was our metal/prog band, blues bands, jazz bands, odd bands, and always, always jamming. Later, there were separate and solo efforts. But they were all strictly amateur, although we always dreamed of fame and fortune. Dreamers, we were ... not so much boldly going - damn.
Yet, do enough of anything for long enough, and of course you get pretty darn good. Such was the case as we parted ways - only because I decided to follow the Canadian girl I was in love with, and hit Toronto. My friend continued to play (I think), but took his graphic arts education seriously (possibly except when he appeared at art college as "Beergut 100" instead of the then-popular "Haircut 100". This consisted of him playing guitar and singing on stage, with a brown paper bag over his head. Another guy did something weird, but I don't recall what. It was very funny - even right now I had to pause for several minutes of belly-laughing. You had to be there. Hey, it was art college. Later that evening, I believe I threw up on, and passed out on, some fancy chair in the middle of some frat house or something. I can't say I made a lot of friends that night. Nor for several years, because I did all my serious drinking before I was 20. Well, most of it.
I feel this is getting off track, but I now feel obliged to mention that when we were all 18 years old, we recruited local cool drummer, and all round great guy Keith, from the "wrong side of the train tracks" (literally), and so began my descent into drugs. But not so much my friend - he often expressed concern for the recklessness which I still practice today.
Better speed things up. My friend turned his older self away from disappointment, and went back to being a musician, and of course, was very poor therefore. I turned myself into a husband, twice, got deeper into drugs, became mentally ill*, lost everything (a couple of times), and ended up as I am: Lost in Canada, and pretty fucked up. Cookie - crumbles - that's the way.
* I want to make it clear that its irrelevant whether drugs or mental health came first, since my whole family was, er, blessed to provide a guarantee of mental illness for me. I mean it was hereditary, presumably.
So, I wasn't getting much of anything done for a long while - I still don't. But my friend was plugging away, becoming the consummate musician. Here's the whole point of this ...
I just got word that he just signed a major record deal in the UK. Tomorrow, I will have zero dollars as usual, be eating at soup kitchens, and picking up cigarette butts to smoke. A slight disparity.
Now, I am THRILLED for my friend, and I don't really complain much about my life (much). But then there's this sickness ...
It's sick, but I am very, very jealous. Its all I can think - that it could have included me. Oh, dear.
Please, forgive me.
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