Waits for It

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

Earlier today I was sitting at our dining room table, assembling a grocery list, like I do each Saturday. I had the 1975 album No Mystery by the Jazz-fusion group Return to Forever playing in the background via Spotify. Then, I heard a member of our family (I’m going to protect their identify) approaching so shut off the music. “Thanks for turning off that pretentious music,” they responded. I offered a knowing smirk in return.

If you’ve read this blog before you know I’m something of a music geek, especially Rock music. The truth is I know precious little about other genres, except Jazz, where, as they say, I know enough to be dangerous. I listen to Jazz primarily if I want background music, like during the day, when I’m working or if I want to quiet my mind while making dinner or performing another chore. But this one particular family member teases me every time they hear me listening to Jazz, calling it pretentious music. I keep wondering if our mutual shtick will go stale, but it hasn’t as of yet.

It’s funny because at some point during the past few weeks someone asked me to define pretentious for them and I struggled. You see, it’s one of those words that we all know but do we really know it? Without looking the word up I’d define pretentious, or its root, pretension, as focusing on an action, object and subject based on an anticipated reaction – basically doing something for effect. And I’m pretty close. “The use of affectation to impress; ostentatiousness,” according to Google.

But here’s the thing about pretention. Usually the word is associated with something of a higher quality or a person with a particular talent or ability. Even then, the line gets blurred. I don’t believe anyone would consider listening to the late great Eddie Van Halen’s guitar playing as pretentious. But if I started blaring Yo-Yo Ma I might be setting myself up for teasing, at least within my lovingly merciless family.

A couple of hours ago, I set off by myself on my bi-weekly Costo run. I was listening to The Current, a Twin Cities station affiliated with Minnesota Public Radio and heard the unmistakable voice of Tom Waits. Now, Tom Waits always has struck me as one of those artists with super fans. While I’m not one of them, I do consider him an artist that impresses me to no small end for what I see as his evocative abilities. You listen to 10 seconds of a Tom Waits song and you’re immediately transported to a smoky bar, dark alley or seedy motel room

But as I drove and listened to Tom Waits I wondered if the very act of doing so might be pretentious. Even though there was absolutely no one else around. If someone told me the artist I had actually been listening to was Michael Bolton, would I decide I hated the song?

This whole exploration of pretension got me thinking about a phrase I’d heard several years go – “it’s not about what you like but what you’re like.” Which I interpret as don’t worry about what other people think, even if they’re members of your own family. Listen to what you want to listen to, read what you want to read, watch what you want to watch. Forget about concepts like “guilty pleasures” and just enjoy. Or educate. Or inform. Basically, remember that when seeking enrichment it’s about us, not them.

Image credit: Getty images

When Black Friday Comes

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

I never have enjoyed shopping.  As my long-suffering wife Wendy will attest, I wear clothes until they are near disintegration and then let new pants hang in my closet unused because I don’t want to deal with  having them altered.  But this doesn’t mean I’m immune to materialism.  In fact, having children, I feel it is more a part of my life than ever before. So Wendy and I find ourselves faced with a familiar First World quandary:  We work very hard so our children want for nothing.  Yet we strive to ensure Ethan and Sasha understand the difference between wants and needs.  And that we in turn lead by example.

Yet during the past few years, on Black Friday, we’ll find ourselves, along with almost everyone else, shopping. We justify it with a “if you can’t beat ’em join ’em” attitude but no matter how you cut it the day in one form or another ends up being about things. But I don’t want to lose sight of the fact that it’s more importantly about the people who you hunt for things with.

Growing up in Connecticut my brother Jonathan and I would spend every Black Friday together. We’d have a leisurely lunch at Friendly’s and then hit up the Crystal Mall, about 40 minutes north of my parent’s house on Interstate 95.  But we were passing time; not in pursuit of a bargain. Knowing my shopping tastes, I’m sure I might have returned from our trips with a CD or book. But I don’t remember any one thing I purchased; just the camaraderie.

At the start of last night’s Thanksgiving dinner, our family went around the table and individually detailed the reasons why we were thankful.  Not once did anyone mention something tangible – that you can touch, watch or wear.

One added bonus to Black Friday is that it gets me thinking about the awesome Steely Dan song, especially this verse:

When Black Friday comes
I’m gonna dig myself a hole
Gonna lay down in it ’til
I satisfy my soul

Satisfying one’s soul. I really like that. Especially if you can do it with people, not just things.

Photo credit: Danny Clinch

What I’m Thankful For

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

Our family has a Thanksgiving tradition where each year we go around the table and share what we’re thankful for. Like many of you reading, this year’s Thanksgiving will be a bit different but, and I don’t care how trite this sounds – I’m still incredibly thankful for my family and friends and, now more than ever, my health. But my thanks extends to those seemingly small things that, especially this year, make all the difference. Such as:

Video Conferencing
Like I’d imagine you do, I spend quite a bit of time each day on Teams, which I use professionally and to a lesser extent, Zoom, for personal use. We can bemoan the loss of real face-to-face conversation, of physically being in the same room as someone. But both Teams and Zoom have served as proverbial life rafts for me at various points and I’m certainly glad they’re available.

Michael Moorcock
I’ve always been an avid reader and this year in particular, have been trying to take advantage of more downtime to really dig in and get some reading done. Late last year, I discovered British author Michael Moorcock. He’s known primarily for his Fantasy and Science fiction work but highly recommend his series of historical novels known as the “Pyat Quartet.” Moorcock also has served for a lyricist for bands like  Blue Öyster Cult and Hawkwind (Lemmy’s first band, for you music geeks at home) and his work features an ideal balance of cynicism and hope.

Streaming Services
OK, while I have been admittedly reading, there’s no way around it – I’ve also been watching quite a bit of television on Netlix and Hulu. Particular standouts include Ozark, The Morning Show, and Hulu originals Mrs. America and Fosse/Verdon. I’ve also listened to quite a few podcasts via Spotify while running and walking our dog. These include my regular go-to’s like WTF hosted by Mark Maron and new one-off podcasts like a Slow Burn season devoted to David Duke and Wind of Change, which centers on an urban myth that the iconic Scorpions power ballad may have in fact been written by the CIA.

Jake Tapper
Besides Netflix or Hulu, you can bet that if I’m watching something it’s cable news, especially during the past several weeks. And in my mind there’s no one better at delivering it than CNN’s Jake Tapper. He’s tough, prepared, earnest and I believe he lets just enough of his true self come through. Tapper reminds me of a top-of-his game Dan Rather and that’s about the highest compliment I can give a working television journalist today.

Rock Music
My wife Wendy and I have two teenage kids and it’s been a blast during these past few years learning, through them, about current popular artists, many of which I listen to on a regular basis. But it’s clear that Rock music, especially the loud, melodic, guitar-driven kind I like, has largely fallen out of favor. Throughout the past several months I have turned to artists like the aforementioned Scorpions, Ghost, and UFO plus obscure bands like Diamond Head and Tygers of Pan Tang (which is playing now as I write this post) to both escape and process what’s going on around me. My hunch is that Rock music will eventually become popular again but even if it doesn’t I’ll always listen to it.

The Human Spirit
OK, I deliberately avoided mentioning those big, weighty, things we’re thankful for but I couldn’t resist this one. During the last several months I’ve seen multiple examples, both positive and frankly, negative, of the human spirit. And, to use a term you hear quite a bit today, “we’ve got this.” We really do; as long as we stick together.

Wishing all of you a safe, healthy and happy Thanksgiving. Cheers.

Image credit: NY Times

Turning the Page on Tolerance

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

I pretty much despise shopping; have since I was a kid. But I do make an exception when shopping for books. There’s one store I enjoy visiting regularly – The Paperback Exchange, located in Southwest Minneapolis, blocks from our home. Our family has been visiting The Paperback Exchange for years and when our daughter Sasha requested I take her there yesterday I was happy to ablige.

I’ve been on a Fantasy and Science Fiction kick of late so immediately went to that section. As I was browsing I came upon the 1987 novel Seventh Son by Orson Scott Card, which I’d been seeking for some time. I knew of the book because it inspired bassist Steve Harris of Iron Maiden to write and record the band’s 1988 album Seventh Son of a Seventh Son. Like most books of the genre, Seventh Son is part of a series so I purchased the three books available that followed it.

Upon arriving home, I spread the four novels on a table, took a photo (which accompanies this post) and texted it to a fellow metalhead friend. “Whoa,” he replied, confirming the value of my find. Then I put the novels on our bookshelf, excited to begin them after I finish a Churchill book my father-in-law lent me.

Later yesterday afternoon, as I was walking our dog Astro, I remembered that Orson Scott Card, who wrote Seventh Son and is probably most closely associated with his novel Ender’s Game, had been in the news at some point during the past several years. So I Googled his name and began skimming the author’s Wikipedia page. “Ah,” I thought as I scrolled. “That’s why his name sounded familiar.”

A practicing Mormon and great-grandson of Brigham Young, Card wrote a 2013 essay describing an alternate future where President Obama ruled as a “Hitler- or Stalin-style dictator.” He’s also publicly supported laws against same-sex marriage.

I thought back to those books on our bookshelf and how excited I was, only a few hours before, to read them. Yet suddenly my excitement felt tempered and I almost started having second thoughts. Like I was somehow supporting Scott’s views by reading his novels.

But then, just as quickly those thoughts dissipated and I began instead to consider the whole notion of tolerance. Not to sound trite, but tolerance ideally should be a two-way street. We live in a country where Orson Scott Card is free to express his own views and does so knowing that they might impact his readership. His work, and the fact that it inspired a band I enjoy to create an album, intrigued me to the point of wanting to read it. From my vantage point it would be close-minded of me – intolerant by any other name, not to give his work a chance.

Who’s to say whether I will like Seventh Son and the novels that follow. That remains to be seen. But I’ll be reading the books in the spirit of enjoying them of keeping an open mind. Of practicing tolerance by action and, I suppose, words.

Master of None

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

I was running with a friend yesterday and talking about skiing. My friend and his family had taken the activity up the year before and enjoyed the experience. Our two kids, Ethan and Sasha, had just brought up skiing the evening before and I was picking my friend’s brain on how often they skied, as well as the logistics involved and ability required.

As we ran I recounted my own family conversation about skiing and how I believe Ethan used the term “mastering” when describing his ultimate aim with the activity. My friend and I laughed at the thought. Because no one masters skiing. Lindsey Vonn hasn’t mastered skiing just like Jack Nickalus didn’t master golf and the late great Eddie Van Halen didn’t master guitar playing. You can literally spend a lifetime attempting to master these endeavors and still fall short. Plus, as my friend put it while we ran: “What’s the fun in mastering something?”

The conversation yesterday with my friend got me thinking more closely about the concept of mastering. I of course remember what it was like to be a teenager and don’t fault our kids for having the attitude, misguided as it might be, that they could master skiing. But I surely have outgrown that attitude. Right? Well, I suppose it’s complicated.

The more I thought about it, I realized that while I grasped the notion of not being able to master large endeavors (writing, for example), I still made plenty of futile attempts to master other aspects of my life. Especially relationships and situations. I recalled, often wincing inwardly, personal and professional relationships where I’d either try to gain the upper hand and bend the other person to my way of thinking or do everything in my power to please them or anticipate their needs. You can imagine how well those attempts went. Same thing with situations. Those times where I had a set objective in mind, did my homework and then still watched the whole thing go kaput.

Now, I don’t want to give off the impression that we shouldn’t even try something if we aren’t going to master the endeavor. Far from it. My favorite endeavors include writing, reading and running and I have no intention at all of mastering them or giving them up. But the conversation gave me some much needed insight into the elusive futility of “mastering.” Or that other word we’re all annoyingly familiar with – “control.” Now I just need to put it into practice.

The Brothers Grim

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

For a small country located literally at the bottom of the world, it seems as though New Zealand has been getting quite a bit of attention during these past few years. I recall reading stories of Americans moving there to escape our country’s hostile political environment. And then Prime Minister Jacinda Arden has received well-deserved accolades for her deft leadership during two crises – the Christchurch mosque shootings in March 2019 and this year’s COVID outbreak.

But I’ve been seeking solace in the work of two musicians from New Zealand – Tim and Neil Finn, during the past several years. And it resounds with more now than ever before.

For those of you unfamiliar with these names, Tim Finn formed the band Split Enz and Neil founded Crowded House, with both brothers collaborating on music from each group. Songs from the respective bands, like “I Got You,” “Don’t Dream It’s Over,” and “Something So Strong,” all receive fairly significant airplay today.

Several years back, an old dear friend introduced me to the 2004 album Everyone is Here, recorded by Tim and Neil Finn, as The Finn Brothers. As it happened, the album came on my radar when I was going through a particularly difficult time and it offered me solace. The song “Won’t Give In,” which leads off  Everyone Is Here, particularly impacted me; especially this lyric: “Once in a while I return to the fold, with people I call my own.”

I turned that lyric over in my head many times during the this past spring when we collectively seemed to be in this perpetual lockdown and quarantine mode. Then, like music tends to do, at least with me, the song dissipated a bit. Only to come roaring back during the past several days as, at least where I live in Minnesota, things are looking a bit grim of late.

Now, I don’t want to give the impression that The Finn Brothers are one-hit-wonders; that couldn’t be further from the truth. Everyone Is Here lacks a single filler song and I would easily rank it among my Top 10 favorite albums.  I believe music critics refer to “finely crafted” songs to the point of cliché; Everyone is Here gives new meaning to this term. Every lyric matters; not a single note could be qualified as unnecessary noodling.  But it’s the pitch-perfect harmonies that truly carry it.

During the next few days, or weeks, or whenever you have the time, please do yourself a favor and listen to Everyone Is Here. The songs are sad without being maudlin yet concurrently hopeful and buoyant. They’ll stay with you and reverberate like a good meal, film or book – not in an annoying earworm way. It’s the perfect music for this time of year; for this year in particular, when returning to the fold with people we call our own takes on a whole new meaning.

Neil and Tim Finn. Image credit: poprockrecord.com

Rearing Its Head

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

It’s been said of the band The Velvet Underground that even though they didn’t sell many records, everyone who bought one started a band. Then I suppose you could say the British band Diamond Head is like the Metal version of The Velvet Underground. I’m not sure everyone who bought their records started a band. But someone important did – Metallica drummer and co-fonder Lars Ulrich.

According to Metal lore, a teenage Ulrich traveled from San Francisco to London to see Diamond Head perform. Upon returning to the States, he placed in ad in his local newspaper seeking musicians to start a band. To this day, Metallica covers Diamond Head songs in concert and most music fans, including me, wouldn’t have heard of the band without the Metallica connection.

Diamond Head was formed in the late 1970’s and became part of what was to be known as the “New Wave of British Heavy Metal.” NWOBHM refers to bands such as Judas Priest, Iron Maiden and Motörhead that hail from the industrial heart of England. Much like Black Sabbath, the NWOBHM bands played the dark, unfiltered stuff.  Their lead singers, to put it diplomatically, lacked in visual appeal but more than made up for it with attitude.  As the late Motörhead lead singer Lemmy Kilmister, something of NWOBHM elder statesman, famously described himself and his band mates, “If this band moved in next door to you, your lawn would die.”

I’ve been listening to quite a bit of Diamond Head lately and have NWOBHM on the brain as I mentally and emotionally prepare for this winter, which likely will be a doozy. Now, I live in Minneapolis and winters here are always pretty brutal. But with rising COVID cases, talk of more lockdowns, curfews and school extracurricular activity cancellation, this coming winter seems a bit different.

I suppose that when you’re preparing for a particular challenge, you can approach it one of two ways. You can take the “I’m not going to let it get the best of me” approach and squeeze as much enjoyment as you can out of the season, despite the odds. To quote another British institution, “always look on the bright side of life.” Or, you can lean into winter and everything coming our way. And this is where NWOBHM comes into the equation.

Bands like Diamond Head and others didn’t shy from their grim, impoverished surroundings but embraced it, letting the atmosphere fuel their sound, lyrics and appearance. If you’re not familiar with Diamond Head, Iron Maiden or Motörhead, consider songs like Black Sabbath’s “Paranoid” and “Iron Man,” both of which I’m sure you’ve heard countless times. You probably don’t feel like smiling when you hear those songs. But I wouldn’t be surprised if those songs don’t help you process whatever it is you’re feeling when you hear them. At least that’s how it works for me.

Getting back to the two ways (I’m sure there are plenty more) you can approach a challenge, my strategy, at least as it currently stands, is to split it down the middle. I’ve been gradually stocking up on outdoor running gear and, in an effort to avoid the gym, intend to be outside as much as possible, weather (physical or emotional) be damned. And I know just the music that can help accompany these runs that I believe will help carry me through to the other side.

Image credit: Mixcloud.com

(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

If you’re like me, time seems to exist in this odd other-worldly vacuum during COVID-19 where it seems days are like weeks and weeks like months. I know it was a little more than a week ago when Joe Biden and Kamala Harris were declared the winners of the 2020 Presidential Election. But it seems like ages ago.

Our family officially received the news around midday Saturday via a text from one of our daughter Sasha’s friends. Then we all gathered together to watch CNN before getting back to our chores and errands. Only to watch the celebrations throughout the country later in the evening, which one cable news talking head described as what you typically see after a dictator is overthrown.

I know intellectually that Joe Biden beat Donald Trump and that after Inauguration Day Donald Trump will go back to being a private citizen. My prediction is that even when Trump takes on the widely-expected roll of professional troll that he will be diminished. No Air Force One, or briefing room with the Presidential seal-emblazoned podium. No motorcade. And man, will Trump miss all of that. I’m confident deep down in my soul that despite the incredibly daunting obstacles that face us, we have a better shot of coming through to the other side quicker and more intact with Joe Biden at the helm.

All well and good. But something’s lacking; something feels a bit hollow and unsettling. Ah, I know what it is. I can’t get the satisfaction of something I’ve waited four long years for: see Donald Trump and those around him acknowledge what we’ve known all along – that he’s a big, fat, pathetic loser. Donald Trump won’t give it to me. And like everything else with Donald Trump, I find myself absolutely repulsed yet strangely impressed.

It’s not like we didn’t see Trump’s actions coming. He said all along he wouldn’t accept the results of the election, if he lost. But what drives me nuts is that how, to a large degree, he’s being enabled. By member of Congress. His own cabinet (Secretary of State Mike Pompeo’s smarmy reference to a second Trump term was particularly galling). And the millions of people who voted for him.

And, in this weird way, I feel oddly complicit in all of this. Don’t judge but during the past several weeks our family has been watching Keeping Up With the Kardashians on Hulu. We have a blast offering our own color commentary about what qualifies as “reality” – staged drama, clunky foreshadowing and wooden acting. But from a bigger picture, many of us are living in our own blue or red realities, where, depending on your point of view, we’re, as I stated earlier, starting our journey out of the wilderness or heading off into it to plot our return to power.

It’s almost as if, culturally, enough of us decided that a new kind of manufactured reality was acceptable. We can get angry and annoyed at Donald Trump all we want and truthfully, I have plenty of more anger and annoyance in reserve. But at least for me, part of the anger, annoyance and no small amount of frustration comes from the knowledge that I had a hand in making Donald Trump possible.

President Trump waves to supporters as he returns to the White House after playing golf on Saturday, Nov. 14. Image credit: Reuters

Something Borrowed, Something Blue

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

In my job I focus quite a bit on content. I know, I know; if you’re in Marketing or a related field, you’re probably sick of that word but it’s important. The long and the short of it is that there’s so much content out there in our world that we need to ensure what we create stands out. And that means, as you can imagine, creating new content. But also quite a bit of time focusing on what we refer to as repurposing – making old content new; taking existing content and squeezing as much juice out of it as you can.

Interestingly, the iconic band Blue Öyster Cult has offered a unique case study in doing just that.

If you’re reading this post and of a certain age, you probably know Blue Öyster Cult from their songs “(Don’t Fear) the Reaper” and “Burnin’ for You,” both of which received extensive radio airplay during the 1970’s and 80’s and still remain staples on Classic Rock Radio. But like many bands of that era (KISS, Queen and Steely Dan immediately come to mind), I find their best work is the “deep cuts” within their albums. In the case of Blue Öyster Cult, that means albums like Agents of Fortune, Spectres and The Symbol Remains, a new release issued just last month.

That’s right, Blue Öyster Cult issued a new album. I heard guitarist and original band member Buck Dharma interviewed on a podcast where he acknowledged the reality of the music business and knew the record wouldn’t exactly burn up the charts. But he and the band had taken the time to develop new material and wanted their audience to experience it. Which is exactly why all of us create content.

And then, just last week, former Blue Öyster Cult drummer and founding member Albert Bouchard released an album, Re Imaginos, which is a re-recording of the band’s 1988 album Imaginos. As some background, the original album, which was 20 years in the making, has a somewhat troubled history and is considered among the band’s most divisive releases. It was originally conceived as an Albert Bouchard solo concept album involving themes of alien conspiracies but then ultimately recorded and released after Bouchard was fired from the band and Blue Öyster Cult was in somewhat of a commercial slump.

I’m not sure of Bouchard’s motivation to revisit the decades-old recording but want to believe it was similar to mine when I revisit content both personally and professionally. That certain content speaks to you in a way that makes you want to ensure it gets in front of as many people as possible. And that each time you read or re-read the content, you envision new possibilities for sharing it.

During the past week, I’ve been listening and re-listening to not only Re Imaginos but Imaginos, The Symbol Remains as well as other Blue Öyster Cult albums. It’s basically a sonic version of clicking back and forth online and having a truly valuable user experience. I can tell you that all of these albums are not just entertaining me but inspiring and educating me. Just like great content should.

Image credit: Guitar World

Exploring Supreme

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

As I’ve referred to in previous posts, I regularly embrace rabbit holes – the notion of digging in deep on typically an author or musician to see where the journey takes me. Recently one of my rabbit hole journeys helped me face one of the most perplexing questions of all: “Is there a G-d?”

A few weeks back, leading up to our daughter Sasha’s Bat Mitzvah, I began going down a John McLaughlin rabbit hole, listening to his solo work, the Jazz fusion band Mahavishnu Orchestra that the British guitarist led during the 1970’s and especially Love Devotion Surrender, his 1973 collaboration with Carlos Santana and a tribute to the saxophonist John Coltrane. As part of my rabbit hole journey, I listened to a podcast interview with McLaughlin where he discussed listening to Coltrane’s signature 1964 album A Love Supreme for days and weeks on end to fully embrace it.

The McLaughlin interview struck me as I vividly recalled an NPR segment several years back honoring the 50th anniversary of A Love Supreme. During the segment bassist and composer Christian McBride recalled being a high school student in Philadelphia when the record was released.  Visiting a local record store, he asked the clerk if he should buy it. The clerk replied that he might not be ready for it, which of course made McBride want it more.

Clearly there was something about A Love Supreme. I own the album on CD and have listened to it on Spotify but it had been awhile. So I put it on. I can tell you that A Love Supreme doesn’t sound like dated background music, or old-timey, in the way certain Jazz music does.  And it doesn’t appear discordant and experimental, either.  It sounds like the kind of music that makes you stop what you’re doing and listen for a minute. Which is the point of all music, regardless of genre.

People view A Love Supreme as John Coltrane’s paean to spirituality.  His life was filled with many demons and much seeking; the album was Coltrane’s way of acknowledging he finally located the driving force of his life and turned himself over to this higher power. John Coltrane died of liver cancer two years after the release of A Love Supreme, at the age of 40.

Eventually, the John McLaughlin rabbit hole morphed into a full-on Santana rabbit hole so I kept continuing on this vaguely spiritual music journey. Then, the other day, I was having a conversation with someone I’m close with who surprised me by stating they didn’t believe in G-d until recently, when they were faced with a particularly difficult challenge. The conversation was shocking in that it was so out-of-the-blue and made me consider my own views towards G-d, and spirituality in general, which I rarely do.

Upon reflection, I realized that I take a “shit happens and it’s up to us to skew the odds” approach to life. As corny as it sounds, I treat people with respect and aim to do the right thing so I’ll get those actions in return, knowing full well that’s not always the case. I jog, eat steel cut oats and turkey wraps so I can really enjoy sitting on the couch watching Netflix, as well as eating cheeseburgers and drinking beer. And as to that ever present “How could G-d allow?” question – all the poverty, corruption, illness, injury, tragedy – how could that occur on G-d’s watch? My answer would be another question – “Well, how couldn’t G-d?”

Bringing it all back to John McLaughlin, John Coltrane and Carlos Santana, I truly believe there is a higher power – something way bigger than all of us, something supreme, that guides everything. And by “everything,” I mean everything – all the wonderful and miserable things that collectively happen to all of us. I respect and commend those artists for creating work that praises the notion of “supreme,” try to understand it a bit, but they’re never going to crack the code and they know that. That’s not really the point.

Basically, I believe that spirituality – whatever form you choose to practice it, is a never-ending journey down a series of rabbit holes. I for sure am going to keep on my journey. And I have every confidence I’m being guided. By who or what I have no idea and I truly could care less. Just having the guide is enough for me.

Carlos Santana and John McLaughlin