In the days of yore, ’85 to ’86, in the heartland near Peoria, Illinois, I was just a kid, a ball of energy and ideas. Enter the Fostex X-15, my four-track maestro, nestled in the bedroom. Late nights, endless experimentation – a dance with the echoes in my head. Those tapes, never meant for the world, etched the first footprints on this winding road.
Now, in a twist of fate, I release those echoes to every conceivable platform – YouTube, Spotify, Apple Music – a new chapter in my musical saga. Terrified? You bet. Back then, the music, the lyrics, flowed through me like Kerouac’s open road. Freedom, possibility – sentiments I hope echo with you.
No frills, man, no fancy fuss. Just me and my guitar, laying down raw, unpolished tracks. No computers, no studios, no bullshitting – just the uncut sound of my teenage soul bleeding through the strings.
No grand plans to unveil this to the world. It was for me, a handful of compadres – a little something for the homies. Cassette tapes, man, that’s all we needed.
It’s not polished, not perfect, but there’s a beauty in its rawness. Real, unfiltered – the way I dig it. So, if you’re up for some lo-fi, non-autotuned, demo action, buckle up. We’re on for a wild ride, man.
Just a kid, wanderin’ the tangled trails of the music world, man. I’ll confess, back then, I was still pretty green. Figuring out the essence of me, you dig?
The early years, brother, it’s a ride of experimentation and discovery. I was all in during those days, tryin’ on sounds like clothes, searching for the one that fit me best.
Got a bit lost in the mid-’80s arena rock and radio metal sounds for a spell. But hey, that’s the journey, man. You gotta slip into various styles before finding the one that’s authentically you.
Yeah, those early years were a tad rough, but I wouldn’t swap ’em for a thing. They were my formative days, molding me into the artist I am now. For that, eternal gratitude, you know?
Strange how songs sometimes just channel through you, like you’re a vessel for the music, not its source.
This album, a few tracks, they just spilled out, and later, when I listened, it was as if another voice was singin’. That’s the magic of art, man. Not always about conscious creation but letting the music flow through, unhindered. That’s the tale of this album.
Even if some tunes sound a bit foreign now, I’m proud of ’em. They marked a chapter in my journey, guided me on the path to finding my artistic self. For that, everlasting gratitude, brother.