Ken Robert over at Mildly Creative is a warm-hearted fellow. He shares of his truth, his journey. It's quite inspirational, quietly. My kinda guy.
When it comes to musicians, I’ve always had a case of artist envy. The good ones make my jaw drop, and sometimes make my heart stop, and always leave me wondering how they do the things they do.
Having never learned an instrument or to even read music, I see them as strange magicians performing sleight of hand.
Where did they pull that riff from? Where were they hiding that note? How did they reach inside my chest while standing so far away?
I used to pretend I understood, standing in my room on a shag carpet stage, singing along with some new record, and playing my air guitar.
Over and over, I’d lift the arm of the record player and reset the needle on the smooth, black rim that surrounded the glorious grooves. Those were the days of vinyl, when every song was first introduced by the sound of a white-noise hiss.
Then the drums would kick in, or some strings would cry out, and I’d struggle to capture the words. The words meant a lot and they often still do, because, if I can’t grasp the sound, I can at least get a hold on the lyrics.
But some time last year, the words no longer seemed to be enough, so I’ve spent some time trying to learn how a guitar works, and how to work a guitar. I’m really quite terrible, but I hope to be decent someday.
Until then, I’m still that kid, alone in his room with his eyes shut and his door closed and his teenage heart wide open.