There’s no good music anymore.

This statement, along with “I don’t listen to anything past 1980” was conveyed to me by a old bandmate regarding rock music a few years back. Judging his statement harshly, I immediately deemed him as “stuck in the past”. Surely, if one were to critically view the state of our present music culture solely based upon the Billboard Top 40, I tend to agree with his argument. Conversely, if you look deep enough, there’s always existed the counter-culture (beatniks and then, hippies) and even the counter-culture to the counter-culture (punks), presently (and vaguely) known as the alternative. Also, as a result of the ever-changing face of rock music, in many ways there’s never been a better time to seek out new, interesting, diverse, genre-defying music, but this is a topic for another article.

If I were to succumb to his words, I’d never write another song, pluck another note, slap another beat or sing another melody for fear of nostalgia (or, if you prefer, the “good old days”) casting such a foreboding shadow as to obliterate anything proceeding it. But face it; every generation has their glory days, and rightly so, no matter how ridiculous this seems to the generation preceding it. I’m thinking in particular of a time I was in a bar in the mid-90’s where a group of then 20-somethings were singing along boisterously (and perhaps drunkenly) to Brian Adams’ Summer Of ’69. Being the musical snob of yore that I was, my immediate thought was “how goofy, couldn’t they pick a better song?”. My next thought was “back in MY day…”. You get the picture.

But what is it really that draws us back into nostalgia’s warm inviting arms? Is it the security of its’ familiarity? Are we inherently comfortable with things we know, places we’ve been? Is it more difficult to boldly stand before the future with an open heart, not knowing what lay ahead? As a result, do we grow more complacent with age?

We, as humans tend to romanticize the past, at times rewriting it, twisting it so it fits neatly into own vision of who we were, who we are and who we wish to be. I’ve heard others say that there won’t be anything like “blank” again (fill in the “blank” with your favorite pop culture memory). Perhaps that’s so, but history has proven time and again of our evolution as opposed to our de-evolution (though the new wave band DEVO (whom I love) and the mass media (whom I don’t love) would have us believe otherwise).

Before any type of therapy or recovery, I used to perpetually dream of going back to my childhood so I could relive it. Though I do recall the carefree lightheartedness of that era of my personal history, in reality it was underscored with physical, emotional and psychological abuse, pain, fear, shame and perpetually living up to someone else’s unrealistic expectations, all attributes any clear-thinking adult would steer clear of. In the unearthing of my sordid past, I now know of my desire to time travel. Feeling robbed of my childhood in many ways, my desire was to relive correctly a misspent youth knowing what I know now, which of course is impossible, but understandable given the circumstances. So, perhaps that’s part of the lure.

Recently, I had the privilege of reuniting with some old bandmates I hadn’t seen or heard from in 30 years. Clearly we were different beings in our late teens than we are now. For one year after finding each other on Facebook (and after much reminiscing), we planned a reunion drawing up possible set lists and posting old videos of bands we once covered (which in large part weren’t available to view pre-cyberspace save late night TV). It was all too exciting, really, and a real jolt for my nostalgic tendencies. I envisioned it all in my head: we were tight, powerful, loud and ready to rock, just as it was 30 years ago. Or was it?

Truth be told, I can’t recall EXACTLY how we sounded all those years ago (there are no surviving recordings at the time of this publication). Sure, I recall the feeling of it all - that I had enormous fun and I’d like to think that even at the tender age of 19, I had enough talent and discerning taste not to be a contributing member of a band that couldn’t play or sounded bad. Nevertheless, nostalgia swiftly took the wheel and I was along for the ride, because in my head, 1-we were a force to be reckoned with (which may or may not have been so) and 2-we are STILL a force to be reckoned with (less likely so). So, we finally set our date, booked our 2 hour slot and for 2 weeks I rehearsed, fretted, obsessed, dreamt, obsessed some more and prayed and meditated a whole lot. Then came the day.



Sparing the details, it was great to be back in the fold with guys I spent an important part of my formative years with.  It was great fun and the music wasn’t bad for being churned out by four rusty latter-day metalheads but the biggest thrill for me was the late night catch-up segment afterwards at the greasy spoon down the road. Over late night grub, we talked not only of olden days but of our present endeavors and topics both musically and un-musically related, the ties that bind us so apparantly present.  I felt a ping in my heart as we departed, vowing to not let another 30 years go by without speaking. What I find so striking about this is that if you take away the link to our respective adolescences (which, in fact was short in regard to time spent together), we’re just four men leading very different lives who happen to play music. Once that link is replaced, we become united in brotherhood, sharing a solidarity which will always possess value, truth, warmth and significance. So, to what extent of that experience is nostalgia playing a role and what portion is reality? And does is really matter in the end?

Shortly after our get together, one of my brethren declared “I felt so nostalgic” which prompted me to dig deeper. The human psyche holds onto so many of our life experiences (all of them, really, though some more readily dialed up than others), it’s difficult at times to know when we’re dealing with old stuff or new feelings (as one program of recovery states, “if it’s hysterical, it’s historical”). In cases of nostalgia, I submit that as long as we don’t allow it’s alluring, false-sense of reality to grip us into submission and invite us into permanent residency, then who’s to say a little time traveling isn’t good for the soul?

Date: 6.2.11
Location: Seaside Heights, NJ
Weather: Sunny, 82 degrees and windy as a mother (but no clouds whatsoever)

In time-honored tradition, I decided to make the trek to the shore, as only Jersey-speak can lay claim to.  This was to be in honor of, well, me, celebrating the anniversary of my entry into this particular physical plane.

But let's rewind the cassette a bit, shall we?  At 12:10 on the morning of, I cast forth into the universe these 3 things: 1- my new website, 2- the 1st single from my new album, 3- the announcement of my birthday, all happening concurrently.  Yes, the ol' hat trick!  Never have I regarded me or my art in such high esteem. See, my past is sordid at best, but, alas, we're not there, we're here and all roads converge here, literally and spiritually, as evidenced by the above testimony.  So, here is where I'll place my focus.



Exciting as all this is, it proved to be just the advent of a star-studded day, replete with many cameo appearances; winding through many emotional peaks, most of which I'll dub as gratitude, elation, love, grace and spirit.  With a soundtrack of summer-themed songs fizzing out of my crackling speakers and blasting me through time and space, I proceeded southbound. But I'll spare you of all the fragments of the day which only I'll find interesting.  Rather, here's the cliff notes:

• Woke to some heart-tugging FB/email birthday blessings, some of which contained some very positive and encouraging feedback regarding the new single, Let's Do It Again.
• Met a waitstaff at a corner grub joint (Nancy) who originally hailed from the Bronx (yo!).  Hence, we engaged in some Bronx-speak (yo!).
• Gifts I so humbly, proudly and graciously accepted: an uplifting video of universal themes to begin the day (props to Meira!), calls from my brethren and sistren Electric Friends as well as my new homies (Mom included) at the Center (including a rousing rendition of HB, as only seniors can sing!), all containing the sheer beauty of the spoken word of love and appreciation.
• Even procured a free drink at Sbux!

But the greatest of these today arrived in the form of the spiritual equivalent of a house call from my dad.  You see, my dad passed from this life a little over 5 years ago and though I have forgiven myself and made peace with him in the process, our relationship wasn't without strain most times.

But today, and possibly for the 1st time since his passing, he came to visit, fully; that is, his core presence was wholey felt, as if he were riding shotgun or better yet, tandem, as I was on my bike.  No words were exchanged - for they were unneccesary.  I understood fully the reason for his visit and I accepted, with a brimming heart at first, and then, with grace.  In short, it was clear that he was there to witness me as I now witness myself - through the eyes of Source, with all the love, support, respect, acknowledgment and pride thereof.  Truly, this was a first in our relationship and as he saw me, I saw myself, and vice versa.  I felt complete, knowing I was in good company, finally.

Mind-blowing, to say the least.



Last, it is neither my intention nor motive to compare and contrast (though I realize it is by virtue of contrast's presence which enables us to more clearly see our best), but the light with which I coursed through my day today (and lately, on the whole) was a fresh experience for me and as a result,  I feel the dawning of a shift - from standing in the hallway to the opening of a multitude of doors ahead. 

Indeed, it was red-letter birthday, possibly the greatest.