When I was sixteen, I had it all. Passion, people who cared, something to do. Not a care in the world, you know?
I banged those skins and man could I bang ‘em. I knew ‘em intimately, somehow, even before I sat on that stool, behind that kit, I knew ‘em. Led me to the stuff of teenage dreams.
For some reason, music just coursed through me. First on the drums and then guitar and then bass and then piano.
Weird thing all I can remember about playing is, that I never thought while I was doing it. My mind was blank. Sometimes, I thought I might be nuts because it just took me over, you know?
People always want to say things about talent, but I put in the hours. I worked hard at music.
I feel like people also want to pin creativity on artists. I ain’t no artist. I’m just a guy who played music ‘cause I liked it.
People have all kinds of ideas, you know? Someone once told me that we have a uniqueness, mine being music, but we are also one with humanity. I tried to understand, but it just seems like BS.
People try to sum you up, you know? But who needs any of ‘em anyway. Not me, I’m good alone. I don’t owe anybody anything and nobody owes me.
I play a little bit of music from time to time. It reminds me of the good old days. Wish I could turn back to the clock.
Sixteen! Loved that age.
