My life as a full-time musician was so long ago, and so much life has passed under the bridge, it’s hard for me to believe it even happened. Most of the friends, acquaintances, and coworkers I’ve met since then know little of my history prior to 1998, the year I “retired” from professional music.
Lately, however, I’ve been getting the itch. I’ve played a little, and that joy of performing is starting to reappear. (Go to my “Music” page to hear a little of what I used to do.)
So far, this blog has made almost no mention of my “other” life, which is slightly absurd, because from 1986 to 1998, I knew nothing else. During those years, I never believed I could do anything else. The idea of the Future Me — the happily married, suburban, 46-year-old father of three who works for a farm cooperative — would’ve been laughable to the 30-year-old Me, a long-haired club musician and songwriter who traveled the country in a variety of dilapidated vehicles, sleeping on friends’ floors while on the road or living in the attics of East Nashville bungaloes.
So I’ve decided to write a little about The Previous Me. I won’t bore you with a chronology of my history; I’m not nearly famous enough for that. But over the next few months, I’ll post — once or twice a week — an anecdote or memory from those formative years. These will be stories of restaurants, bars, and parties; recording studios and Music Row; and St. Croix, South Padre Island, Vail, and Santa Clara. Other remembrances will hopefully emerge from the fog of late nights, early mornings, too many tequila and Yaeger shots and cold, sweaty beers wrapped in soggy napkins, great audiences and disinterested ones (see photo), and the Groundhog Day repetition of loading and unloading P.A. equipment into vans and station wagons that may or may not make it to the next gig.
We’ll see what unfolds.