Look at him go!A minstrel of guitar theory playing for silver coins from the slobbering mobs. Back around the epoch of my baptism into this inferno, nobody, & I mean nobody disclosed to me with brutal honesty where this crazy train could go off the rails, or just how stout you have to be to remain on the track! Through cyclic intervals, my dedication to this sorcery tested. Ages change as does the scene, but some things never will. The haunting, disapproving stares & heckles. The promises of a new, different “high” that only drags your talent down. The cliché, worn out femme vipers that slither about in circles waiting for table scraps from the stage, forever trying to ride MY rocket ride to celebrity. Many of my veteran brethren have succumbed to these pitfalls. Only a limited chosen few of us are still in it for the craft, the rush of doing the music justice. Hell, maybe even show all the hotshot shredder young bloods how it used to get done before shaved heads and that god-awful recycled grunge look. Still, every now and then, the light of the spot touches. Glance over your shoulder & your buddies are up there with you, by your side. Nudging you forward to the footlights, giving the green light to swagger like Jagger for a few precious moments of glory.
Yeah, look at ME go!