It's Kindergarten. And my Mom's boyfriend Tony picks me up from school. And on the short ride to our apartment, I ask him to sing another one of his funny, witty, spur-of-the-moment, four-line little ditties and he does. And like always, weirdly enough, just the sound- the words, the cadence, does something to me. Fueling my curiosity as to why.

 

I'm six. It's Saturday. And since Mom and Dad have to put in more time at the factory, I find out my brother has to put in time babysitting me... along with his four-man rock 'n roll band. While performing a practice session. In a concrete basement. With oversized speakers. Where the wall-rattling decibel level of their riffs, beats, and shouts amidst their reverberating echoes are unbearable at first. But the more I listened to their songs, the more I realized that this wasn't just noise they were putting out, but it was an orchestration of expression, story, and hook in two and three-minute blurbs. Taking me to an ethereal "good feel" world I never wanted to come back from. Fueling my curiosity as to why, even more.

 

I'm seven. Then eight. Then nine. A time when losing my father, then mother, then Tony, then brother... followed by my sister respectively, became all-consuming. All before moving in with relatives, a thousand miles away. Where attempts to distance myself from the eternal pain, were fruitless. Until music found me again. In my room. With my record player on at full blast. Playing and replaying albums and 45's for hours. And many times, days on end. All before I decided to try my hand at writing. Yep, poems. Since writing awesome lyrics- like the ones I had been listening to, were way beyond me.

 

I'm twelve. Through a string of serendipitous events, some of my worst poems get published. In the cheesiest school publication you could imagine. Not only causing me to be flushed with embarrassment for months on end, but with a promise to myself that I'd never do that again.

 

I'm sixteen. And not only have I become one heckuva poem hoarder, but I become a frustrated one at that. Stashing all my secret poems any place, anywhere I could... hoping that no one would ever find them, to embarrass me again.

 

I'm eighteen. In college. Spreading my wings without a care in the world. Becoming more brazen; turning my poems turn into lyrics, and lyrics into songs (with the help of musically-inclined friends). And was my lyrics- not the music that not only turned heads, but apparently the right ones. Offered a shot at a prolific studio gig, I refuse. Justified by inadequacy and fear. Defending that it was because of my studies. And for what remaining time I had in school, I go back into hiding. Still, maintaining some semblance of my much-needed music fix, I deejay at a local night club six nights a week. It kind of works... but then it doesn't.

 

I'm twenty-two.... only to wake one morning to realize I'm thirty.  Where life's nothing less than a runaway train. All speed, no stop. Working my tail off in unsatisfying jobs, just to keep a roof over my small family's heads. And our kitchen table. Where I wrote at night- sometimes all night. In secret. Though I did attempt once again to farm out some poems-turned-lyrics to a friend of mine who tried his best to wrap melodies around. The result? It did nothing but shoot giant holes through my expectations once again. 

 

I'm thirty-one... only to wake up some 450 poems slash lyrics later, to find out I'm sixty-friggin-four.  And bent on two obsessions. Hating the fact that I'm an old man without a nail to hang his hat on, and forcing change. Attacking my writings with gusto. Turning them into songs. And I mean, regardless the effort, regardless the cost. Hitting paid professional musicians up. Humming core melodies to give them direction. Attending their studios. Paying huge fees without getting anything in return. Thus, leaving me where I started... old, broke, and disgusted. 

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I'm sixty-five... only to wake up one morning to Artificial-Friggin-Intelligence. And its ability to turn every one of my lyrics into songs. Delivering hours of fun along with hundreds of song iterations. Not to mention dozens upon dozens of unbelievable tracks! Creating a lifetime release, freedom, and ecstasy I never had.

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So there. But in anticipation of the question "Did you really write ALL the lyrics on this website 1000%?" The short answer is 'no.' Because in my attempt of being "first to market" with this sensational multi-album catalog, I was forced to trade authenticity for speed in several cases, where albums required a little extra push. Why? Because to me, by the end of the day... it's all about getting it out there, and producing the best listening music for you... regardless where it came from.