Talkin' Shit About A Pretty Sunset

Sometimes I wonder if I like music anymore. On my last five-day sailing trip I drunkenly tore apart the stereo system because my shipmates were playing too many god damn Irish drinking songs. Granted, that may have been justified but it doesn't make me feel good about the state of music as an artform in my life.

There's something in the back of my mind that won't let me sit still, content to have sworn off music for good.

I feel better when, like tonight, I played my old bandmate Virat's demo CD from years back and made myself deaf through Toyota speakers at 70 MPH on the Baltimore-Washington Parkway.

Back in the late 90s I was in a band with Virat called Hockey Island. He took his music more seriously than any of the musicians I've met and his talent is unmatched.

I gain no benefit in saying that. I don't even keep in contact with him --- haven't talked to him in years. Apparently, he's formed a new band called The Squaaks whose myspace page is here. His music is still awesome --- mostly the same songs he played with my old band.

Another thing about Virat: when I last spoke to him he had the largest collection of WWII model airplanes I've seen past age seven. I used to wonder if he liked making those models more than writing songs ... nah.

Virat, if you're out there somewhere in internetland, I'd like to tell you that your old demo CD made my night tonight. It hurt my ears and I sang every chorus --- haven't done that in a while.

The indie music market is over-saturated with thousands of talentless douchebags who can't write a simple good song. You can. It's a shame the good bands get lost in the morass of bullshit out there.