Every break up I've ever been through is hard. Thinking back on them all, there's not one that doesn't elicit some sort of physical reaction in me. Whether it was infidelity or lack of compatibility; when ended there was always a feeling of sadness and regret that still faintly resonates. Doubt leaving me to question whether or not the right decision was made. The easy part was saying the words because for one reason or another they all needed to be folded. The hard part came when reconciling what I was leaving behind. A part of me, even at 32, misses every women I've spent any considerable time with. As improved as my life is having made the decisions I have, I still feel for all.
Bands are no different for me. In my life, when trying to recall, I've been in at least 16 musical projects since the age of 15. I say "at least" because I have a feeling there's a few I'm missing along the way. I'm sure there's a rogue noise quartet that never made it out of the practice space lodged behind a synapse somewhere in my brain. The latest and arguably most mature project (both in sound and attitude) I've been lucky enough to be a part of was 'The Fire Drills'. A five piece jangly power-pop outfit designed to make simple, catchy Rock N' Roll. When I joined the band I was intimidated by the lineup and newness of style, having most of my life played in aggressive hardcore and punk rock bands. I resolved to be me and put my touch on it, and if it fit, it fit. Surprisingly it worked out well and we wrote a handful of fun songs and played a small number of great shows. We recorded for two days but never put any finishing touches on the tracks. This went unreleased and it will unfortunately remain that way because today we all collectively decided to let the project go. Put the fork in it. Set the bitch on ice. A decision that came about amicably and rationally. With age increasing and time decreasing for every member we all felt it best to end on an even plane. It is unquestionably the right thing to do. There are no hard feelings and I'm sure I'll keep in touch with most, if not everyone involved. But now that it's over, and with a slight weight off my shoulders, that aforementioned part of me is looking back with a hint of sadness.
I'm not bothered that we won't be going forward. Honestly, I could care less. I'm too busy and too invested in other avenues of my life to worry about something so insignificant. No, I'm sad when looking back at we're leaving behind. I'm attached to the music. Every sound is important to me. It's sappy, I know, but I'm sentimental about music. During my worst times it was the only outlet I had. I then, and now, put myself into every word. I enjoy writing. I respect the process. I envy those that do it best. And fuck it - I don't care if I'm viewed as self-centered - I listen to my own music. There I said it. Boooom. Yeah, you like that? Huh? I get a lot out of it. I mean what are we doing if we're not fabricating what we'd like to see on this earth?
For the three of you reading, I ask you this: Do you know that feeling you get when you hear a song that you fucking love? You've memorized every beat and pitch change. Each note inspires some part of you. It's perfect. Now imagine, you created it. You sat and mumbled and hummed it into existence. You let the tone dictate the subject matter and put letters and words in an order that conveyed a sensation you had buried deep in your guts. When finished and tested, a feeling of gratification falls over you. You did it and, OH YEAH, the best is still yet to come. You get to play it live. To see if it resonates. To see if people connect. And some people get it. And this is important. This is why I fucking waste my time with it. That moment.
What I created with this group was not groundbreaking. Heck, in forced moments of objectivity, I can see that some of it wasn't good at all. It may have connected with only one of the seven billion people on this earth. But that one person was the sixteen year old pock marked kid that lives inside of me. The one that is still bruised by a dozen loveless breakups. He's an asshole by the way. He's a self-aggrandizing solace pig, still angry about a billion blown opportunities and squandered "shots". But as he's matured, and at the core, the product is all that matters to him.
I know, I know, bro, "feelings are gay." I'll stop. I'm ready for this to go. I wish I could say it will be the last project but those words have come out of my mouth so frequently they're now near worthless. What can I say? I'm off. I'm tilted. But it's the truth. I'll do this again even though I know it won't work. I just enjoy it too much.
Thanks to all my friends that came to shows out of obligation or pure interest. I appreciate it. I feel confident saying the rest of the guys do as well.
In honor of my small contribution to The Fire Drills, below are the lyrics to my favorite song we wrote, "Teenage Hearts". Alright, back to less serious musings. Take care, dudes.
TEENAGE HEARTS
Wake up, Wake up, hey, honey.
It's time go
We've only got ten years or so, lovely
Before we slow
So let's take the biggest risks, baby
And crease the sheets
Cause lord knows that when we get older
It won't burn so sweet
(Chorus)
Teenage Hearts
They beat so fast
But when you get past the point of innocence
They crack
Teenage hearts
We'll wither away with our money
And little sleep
So let's take this time now, shall we
And taste defeat
I'm giving you the whole summer
To bring relief
Cause when forty hits our souls heavy
You'll turn from me
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