excerpt from 'collected works 2004 - 2008' introduction...
It all started with a song.
As we turned on to Damen, driving back to his apartment, he looked at me and said, “I want to play you the demos for some new songs we recorded.”
I was excited because not only were these guys my friends, but I was also a legitimate fan of their music.
We parked, headed toward the building and started to walk up the stairs when Pete looked back at me and uttered, almost as if he was unsure in saying, “I want to play you your song.”
“What do you mean, my song?”
“You'll see.”
The anticipation loomed. In the apartment, I milled about, saying my hellos to everyone before scrounging through the refrigerator for microwavable burritos.
Then, in Patrick's closet-sized room as I sat patiently on the bed, Pete put a burned CD into the stereo on the floor and pressed play. We sat and listened together.
“I'm into it,” I said, an obvious fan.
“Just wait.”
Then the chorus played, “Hey Chris, you were our only friend. And I know this is belated, we love you back.”
I smiled and felt a warm mix of collar-tugging awkwardness and pride rush over me.
“It's your song,”
And there it was, every teen fantasy come true. Someone had written a song about ME...
and after nearly 4 years, i did this tonight in chicago:
40 copies left.
As we turned on to Damen, driving back to his apartment, he looked at me and said, “I want to play you the demos for some new songs we recorded.”
I was excited because not only were these guys my friends, but I was also a legitimate fan of their music.
We parked, headed toward the building and started to walk up the stairs when Pete looked back at me and uttered, almost as if he was unsure in saying, “I want to play you your song.”
“What do you mean, my song?”
“You'll see.”
The anticipation loomed. In the apartment, I milled about, saying my hellos to everyone before scrounging through the refrigerator for microwavable burritos.
Then, in Patrick's closet-sized room as I sat patiently on the bed, Pete put a burned CD into the stereo on the floor and pressed play. We sat and listened together.
“I'm into it,” I said, an obvious fan.
“Just wait.”
Then the chorus played, “Hey Chris, you were our only friend. And I know this is belated, we love you back.”
I smiled and felt a warm mix of collar-tugging awkwardness and pride rush over me.
“It's your song,”
And there it was, every teen fantasy come true. Someone had written a song about ME...
and after nearly 4 years, i did this tonight in chicago:
40 copies left.