Ten years after

I still have many pictures from that particular phase of my life. I was young, full of rock n roll vigour, and itching to play loud and proud. The photos say it all; four crazy guys striking their best wannabe rock star poses; sneering, leering, posing and preening. I was in my twenties, and living the semi-professional musician's life; the cover gigs, the small stages and dive bars, the mediocre pay, the sparse crowds populated almost entirely by friends and family. It was as Dickens once wrote, both the best of times, and the worst of times.

The year was 1998, and I had just taken an indefinite "sabbatical" from University to pursue the rock n roll dream. I had just formed a new band of some potential, and being young and idealistic, I threw myself into it with reckless abandon. We had a fantastic rehearsal space, a 500-square foot warehouse across the street from the beer store and local mall. Four nights a week for we bashed out our favourite cover songs over and over again, and before long, we were a well-oiled machine. The gigs started to come in fast and furious. We took them all. No gig was too small, or insignificant. We hit the local bars, outdoor festivals, corn roasts, and backyard parties. It almost goes without saying that I don't recall ever making a dime, as what little pay we ever did receive went straight into our bellies in the form of barley and hops, not to mention the money we spent on fliers, portfolios, and transportation. Getting rich was never the point. The point was that we were young, ambitious, wild, and living our own little personal dream.

I had more fun playing music that year than I ever had before, or likely since. The demise of the band was predictable. It was the usual "Jimmy quit, Joey got married" (Bryan Adams, Summer of '69) bit. Our drummer and second guitarist both became fathers, and got married, while I moved back to my hometown for a couple years to reassess my life and its priorities. However, for a brief moment in time, I lived the musician's life... and every minute of it was great.

So why do I bring this blast from my past up at this time? Well, long story short, after years of brief one-off reunions, and aborted attempts to form new bands, my old cohorts and I have once again joined forces. Ten years later (sounds like a good promotional avenue: the ten year reunion tour... ha ha), those four lads are older, balder, and wiser. Time is often cruel, but the four of us are infinitely better musicians, and having all grown the heck up, have no illusions of grandeur. Four guys in a room, pounding out good old-fashioned loud rock n roll for the sheer enjoyment of it. We have a space rented, and a practice schedule set up. When you get to be a bit older, as we all have, you learn to appreciate the simple details of playing music. The mere chance to plug into the Marshalls, stand in front of 'em and let the force shake you is far more thrilling when you've spent several years playing in your basement.

So, before long, no backyard shindig, barbeque, or hole-in-the-wall local venue will be safe. Sure hope the beer is cold when we get there.