I am a rock star that no one will remember. I am a musician whose music will be forgotten. I am a lyricist whose rhymes will rot away. I am an instrumentalist whose notes will not be enshrined. I am a local musician whose passion cannot be killed. I am following in the footsteps of the millions of generations of great musicians before me. Musicians who were only known by the people who lived geographically near them. They were not famous, they were not stars; We are the Musicians.
Rock Star. It is a new phenomenon. 200 years ago there was no Hendrix, no Nirvana, No Lady Gaga and we didn’t believe in Beatles. Back then musicians struggled locally in the city squares, bars and brothels just as they do now. Much has recently changed for the few musicians who could make a million selling their songs. Not much has changed for the local musician.
What separates me from the rock star, what separates me from your girlfriend who can struggle though two verses of leaving on a jet plane, and what makes me so remarkably un-special yet amazing. After thousands of shows played, hundreds of songs written, hand full of band break-ups and one or two true fans; what keeps me going. The possibility of fame? No. To be remembered? No. To somehow please you? No. None of it. I don’t do it for the muse, or for the art. I do it because I know no better than to do this. The music pushes me and I punch back. It has provoked me, kept me up and strung me out. I have no choice but to listen, to obey and to perform. I am a musician.
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