Hard to believe two years have gone by since I first started this blog. Since then, thankfully, I've made forward progress on my music endeavors. And now for a brief update:
- composed a new piece, "Audacity," for concert band
- composed "Symphony No. 1" for orchestra
- finished all music for "Rogue Tyger" space drama pod-cast!
- co-founded a music media company "MxCo Music" in DC
- applied for countless internships, apprenticeships, and other music related jobs
- started teaching private drum lessons (7 students and counting)
And now for a very short story in lieu of Superbowl XLIV:
Take a walk down Bourbon Street and you’ll hear some of the most talented blues guitarists in the world. His fingers calloused and dry from years of playing on rusted strings. The smell of cigarettes and beer waft out his dilapidated alligator case. Follow him home to a one-room apartment on top of a whore house where tourists throw money at cheap hookers sporting beads around their necks like some sort of prison chains. You’ll hear stories of Muddy Waters and Buddy Guy on those old strings and if you sit quietly enough, BB King before he was one. One more shot of bad fluorescent tequila from a half naked waitress with too much eye shadow; behind those flirtatious glances begging attention lurk time’s great accomplice. But his weather-worn skin and gritty smile make room for a final shot from this character - because when those vibrating wires fill the room, money objectifies itself. Hamilton looks up, with his pompous little grin, and reasons, “My dear young man, the frugal triumph of this night rests upon your willingness to accept a common truth: if you value your life, then you can spend me.” The waitress cracks a smile. The blues man sends a wink from the hot humid stage and stomps his heel into the wooden floorboards a little harder.
