City Limits (Or: Welcome Back, Rock & Roll)

My good friend and former bandmate Josh (J Gatos on YouTube, don’t forget to like & subscribe!) came over last weekend to play some music. I hadn’t seen him in almost a year, and we did the usual catchup game that’s become a staple of thirtysomething life. 

But when it came time to play some of our old songs, I flubbed through riffs I’d witten and my voice seemed to give out before it had even reached my mouth. These were songs I’ve been playing for twenty years, songs that I’d helped write or produce, songs that had become part of my bloodstream, and I was faltering. 

It wasn’t until later that I realized I wasn’t playing with Josh - I was playing for Josh, whose approval I still craved, my bandmate, my best friend, my hero. 

When we were younger, Josh cranked out lyrics on his lunch breaks, wielded his voice with precision and clarity through a cloud of cigarette smoke, and stood his ground in the name of punk rock.

I wanted to get a bit of that energy, to feel like maybe the magic he produced could pull a rabbit out of my ass too. My hero worship took me to some dark places, where I’d do stupid things to keep up with his ability to create a world around him. 

It got the better of him, too. Now he’s cleaned up, he’s more self-aware, more willing to temper his ego. And luckily, he managed to come through without any lasting scars.

We like to believe our heroes don’t need luck. They’re superhuman. They defy the odds because of some innate ability to amaze, to break the laws of physics & maybe the laws of the local municipality in the service of something great.

I always thought the “something great” Josh was serving was our music, the catchy three-minute power-pop diddies that led people to lovingly(?) call us “Green-182.” But he wasn’t serving the songs.

Josh gave me what I think all good heroes give us: the strength & confidence to be our own best selves. Josh taught me how to step out in front of a crowd, how to crank the volume on my amp & drown out that nagging voice of doubt, how to let my guitar talk when I couldn’t find the words (or the harmony). I was never going to be the singer Josh is, but he trusted my playing without reservation and helped me put that front & center.

I still tell people stories about my time in those bands, the things we did together that to this day I don't believe I did.

But I did them, because Josh showed me how.