AN INTRODUCTION TO
In My Youth, I'm getting old...
Your ears are ringing as you pour yourselves out of the bar and into the street, still laughing. The moon is bright in the night sky and the way it mixes with the streetlights makes you see each other in a way you’ve missed for the last few years. In that moment, all the hard times fade away. When she smiles, it makes you smile. She grabs your hand as you think to yourself, “Some Girls Still Love Rock N’ Roll…”
An introduction to
I’m so tired. I’ve given all I can to these songs and this album but there is so much more that’s needed. Music has given me everything but it demands my all in return. Sometimes, late at night, after a few bourbons or a nice glass of scotch, I’ll think back on the kid who learned how to play guitar by listening to Carter Family songs, over and over, or the kid who found his voice by singing along to Bruce Springsteen albums for hours on end, and wish that I could assure him it would get easier, that things would all work out for the best. But, I suppose, all I can say with any certainty is that he better enjoy the damn ride, because sometimes that’s all he’s going to get out of it. And I’d also tell him that on his journey the broken relationships, the loss, the moments of deep despair and the failures will be balanced out by the moments of pure beauty, the love you can only find in another and the triumphs, which will only feel all the sweeter because of the struggles.
I’D REMIND HIM THAT HE MUST SEE A DARKNESS TO ENJOY THE LIGHT. I’D TELL HIM THAT AS HE WRITES HIS LIFE’S STORY, HE’S GOING TO FEEL LIKE GIVING UP SO MANY TIMES, BUT HE SHOULDN’T.
I wouldn’t tell him that the darkness will never go away; he doesn’t need to know that yet. I’d tell him he’s going to come a long way from that small town, population 3000, in rural Wisconsin. I’d tell him he’s going to travel across this great country and back, living and playing music in some of the greatest cities in the world like New York, Chicago and San Francisco. I’d tell him that eventually he’d live enough life to finally write a song and tell a story that’s worth a damn.
I’d then tell him that by the time he turns 27 he’d have lived enough life to write songs and stories about until he dies. I wouldn’t tell him what kind of burden his experiences would bring; he’ll find out in due time and knowing won’t make them any easier. I’d tell him that even though it may seem impossible now, he’d eventually respect and even miss where he was raised. I’d tell him all the hard work, time, emotion and energy will finally be worth it when the albums are done. I’d tell him that no matter how exhausted he is, he just needs to keep going. I’d tell him his stories of honest, hard-working people trying to make it in life and in love, trying to keep their relationships going, even if maybe they shouldn’t, trying to find reasons to get up and go to work each day, trying to find reasons to come back home, trying to find love, hope and faith and trying to overcome fear, trying to make it through the lonely nights, trying to accept our, and others’, faults with grace, trying to reconcile our memorable nights with our forgotten dreams, need to be heard.
I’D TELL HIM THAT WHEN HE FEELS LIKE HE CAN’T GIVE ANYMORE, THAT HE’S JUST TOO TIRED, IT MEANS HE’S GIVING EVERYTHING HE HAS FOR HIS MUSIC; JUST AS HE SHOULD BE...
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