Music is everything

Did you know I once thought that'd be the gig?

I drove to Guitar Center today. Went in quickly and ignored the drums and electric guitars that called to me as I walked by. My destination was the little room in the back with perfect humidity and walls lined with acoustic guitars. I wanted to play a bunch of them and dream about buying a few. At least a 12-string and one of those Martins with a bigger belly that sound like the voice of a goddess. Ah, one day I’ll get that kind of contract…

In the little room in the back, life was simple and happy: pick a guitar, play it for a while, put it back, and grab another one. Beautiful. Peaceful. But then the tips of my fingers started to burn. My calluses were gone. I thought about the last time I’d sat down to play music. I’m not talking about grabbing the guitar and tuning it just in case or strumming a few chords and putting it back on the stand. No, I’m talking about sitting down and playing through songs or trying to come up with something new or whatever for an hour. Sixty minutes of nothing but playing. I could only remember doing that once this year.

At first, that made me a little sad. Like when you think about a friend you haven’t called in six months and now feel bad about it. You see, a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, I thought—maybe for a year or two, not too long —that music could be my thing. I wanted to play music for a living. Pretty original idea, right? Yeah, so I practiced. Got decent at guitar. Loved it. Learned songs by Joaqín Sabina, Joan Manuel Serrat, and a few others giants. Sabina was always my favorite, so I focused on his stuff. I started messing with the drums and percussion in general around my senior year. Someone gave me their old bass at some point. I liked playing. I didn’t like practicing. I didn’t want to learn music.

Don’t judge me yet! Practicing was okay and I did a bit of it and learning music always sounded awesome, but I had another interest that demanded what little free time I had after school, chores, friends, gym, and life: books.

But that’s another story. Point is, I spent a lot of of my free time reading and writing, so there was less time for music. The guitar was challenging and I learned slowly. Excruciatingly so. Writing was exciting and I learned quickly from the books I devoured.

It was a short battle. I loved music and would forever surround myself with it at all times, but storytelling was my thing. It wasn’t easy—no, it was and still is hard as FUCK—but I felt like I could do it, I could practice and get better. (I’m still writing the rest of this story. Stay tuned.)

Anyway! I love music. Music is everything. I’m listening to music all day, every day. At home. In the car. While I write. When I walk the dog. I talk about music daily on social media. I thank musicians in my acknowledgments. When people ask me about my writing influences, I mention Sabina, Tom Waits, and Leonard Cohen along Stephen King, Horacio Quiroga, and Bukowski.

If books and writing are my passion, my world, my house, my sustenance, my everything, then music is my partner in that world, my wife, my therapist, my hype man, my friend. Holy shit! How’s that for purple prose? Anyway, you get the point. Sometimes we have to trust ourselves and all that. Good luck to us all…

Thanks for reading. Go listen to something good.