my son the rising rock star ii: the music

 My son, Jeremy, and I met for lunch. We talked mostly about music. He introduced me to modern rock (by playing it constantly when he lived with me). I find much of it as inspiring as that of my own youth. I was drawn to it then because it represented young men and women successfully articulating their feelings, something I aspired to do. That still applies today. 

Outside the restaurant he reached in his car and grabbed a copy of his band’s new CD for me. I said, “Thanks,” intending to listen to it home. 

“Got a couple minutes?” he asked. 

We climbed in his car and he stuck the CD in his player. I was immediately drawn in. The five band members were perfectly synchronized. My son’s guitar work made me smile. I was touched by the fact that this was original music co-created by my own flesh and blood. It was like seeing a new grandchild for the first time; the emotions went beyond “How cute!” or “He looks just like you!” I was speechless. 

My son, the youngest member of the band, neither sings nor writes lyrics; he’s strictly guitar. And the lyrics were a challenge to get my arms around. The list of people I’d originally envisioned playing this for was dwindling with each cut. Most were variations of the theme, “Go f— yourself!” – screamed at tonsil-shattering intensity, with the attitude of Marines storming an enemy bunker. 

The album’s title is “Reaching Out.”  

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