It started in Chicago.
There was a radio station, 87.9, that played old radios shows, Johnny Dollar, Dragnet, Nightwatch.
But it only worked between Lawrence and Irving park.
One block south or one block north, the station would turn to static.
Driving back and forth between shows, to and from the grocery, picking up strings,
I was privy to this weird blend of music, dialogue, story and static.
It was weird. Hard to put a finger on. At times, clear and conscious.
Other times, total chaos.
“This is it,” I said. “This is what I want to do.”
I’ve always written music. I’ve always made sounds.
My girlfriend, Tam constantly asks me for little breaks in my humming or tapping rhythms on my steering wheel.
It’s a compulsion honestly.
At age 10, I found myself making up songs in the shower.
I’d hear a song on the radio, repeat the melody until the wheels fell off and then modify it tell I had a whole new song.
But I never really considered being a musician. I didn’t relate the humming to songwriting.
Instead I wanted to be an actor. I wanted to tell stories. I wanted to make movies, make plays.
I liked books, I liked making up images. I started writing fiction, short stories, plays.
I did each thing separately for years. Music, acting, fiction, disjointed, compartmentalized.
And for years, I was really unsatisfied artistically.
I felt fractured. Like I was always leaving something out.
Then I found this shitty radio station.
Suddenly there was a way for me to put it all together.
I committed to sound. To audio stories. To static. To a couple chords then dialogue.
To monologues and fully formed songs.
And now, I feel like I found something that is mine.
I feel like the doors have been kicked down and all of me is finally rushing out.
Like a rush of blood shaking a spot of chloresterol, traveling through the entire body, making muscles getting stronger, eyes clearer.
This website is like a little lid on the top of my head. Take off the lid, take a look inside.
Be careful though. It could get a little crazy.