Dead on the inside
Last weekend, I drove to Dayton with some friends to watch AR Rahman live. We were late for the event by about 20 minutes because we veered off-course (damn that Taco Bell manager for throwing us off when we were SO close!) Fortunately, we didn't miss anything significant since Rahman hadn't been brought on stage yet.
A great concert overall; the master performer gave everyone a show worth remembering for a long time to come. But the real pat-on-the-back goes to the kids from Miami U. and Srini who put in the hard work to package the event so well. I am SO envious of those kids...getting to spend time rehearsing with the greats Rahman and Vasundhara Das. Hard to top that one. What I'd give to trade lives with any one of them for even a day, just to be in the company of one of the greatest composers of all time. Hopefully, another day and another opportunity will present itself.
But this isn't why I am writing today. It seems I am a sucker for punishment...except this is far more disturbing...it's like kicking someone or something long it has died because of it. Every concert I go to, every instrument I find myself near, I feel like being guilty of murder.
In my teen years, a lot of things didn't make sense or add up, but when it came to music, nothing mattered. It was my calm, solace, escape, inspiration, celebration, spiritual wellness...the list is endless. But when that umbilical cord between my drums and I was cut (who cut it is a matter of debate), my life slowly started becoming mulch. And every concert I go to (Zakir Hussein and bros in May) reminds me of how worthless my existence has become in the absence of music.
I need to find my way back, for sanity in my life, for holding a singular thought in my head...for taking me back to simpler times. But where do I begin?!
A great concert overall; the master performer gave everyone a show worth remembering for a long time to come. But the real pat-on-the-back goes to the kids from Miami U. and Srini who put in the hard work to package the event so well. I am SO envious of those kids...getting to spend time rehearsing with the greats Rahman and Vasundhara Das. Hard to top that one. What I'd give to trade lives with any one of them for even a day, just to be in the company of one of the greatest composers of all time. Hopefully, another day and another opportunity will present itself.
But this isn't why I am writing today. It seems I am a sucker for punishment...except this is far more disturbing...it's like kicking someone or something long it has died because of it. Every concert I go to, every instrument I find myself near, I feel like being guilty of murder.
In my teen years, a lot of things didn't make sense or add up, but when it came to music, nothing mattered. It was my calm, solace, escape, inspiration, celebration, spiritual wellness...the list is endless. But when that umbilical cord between my drums and I was cut (who cut it is a matter of debate), my life slowly started becoming mulch. And every concert I go to (Zakir Hussein and bros in May) reminds me of how worthless my existence has become in the absence of music.
I need to find my way back, for sanity in my life, for holding a singular thought in my head...for taking me back to simpler times. But where do I begin?!
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