Audible Edibles
“Welcome to Audible Edibles, you melomaniacs! You just bought a ticket for the Magic Carpet Ride of my life. Join me as we “break on through to the other side” and I spin some self-deprecating, deeply personal, and wit-filled stories on the metaphorical turntable that expose my soul and are laced with that powerful drug we all know so well – MUSIC.”
The truth is, I don’t want to be Anonymous. I want YOU to know ME. In fact, let’s jet back in my time machine to ’77, so I can tip my hat to the greatest band ever to come outta Rockford, IL — Cheap Trick— and say that “I want you to WANT me.” I want to be SEEN. Look, I am just following in the footsteps of damn near every musical icon to take the stage. They all want us to see them, even if they are scared shitless. Sure, they wanted us to wear out the stylus from playing their record 365 times in 24 hours, but, mostly, they Want To Be Adored, just like the Stone Rose’s crooned.
Don’t believe me? Your Honor, I would like to bring before the jury Exhibit A: Jim Morrison. Jim was a stellar lyricist, but let’s face it, he didn’t writhe (and perform other lascivious acts!) on stage in sweaty leather pants, while bare-chested, for any other reason than to tempt, tease, and turn us all the fuck on. He knew his sexual prowess –his mojo– and how to “Work It,” like Missy Elliot. In true Mr. Mojo Risin fashion, I want every word in this column to turn YOU the fuck on –spiritually, mentally, emotionally, and, hell, maybe even physically, too. I dare say that I am an emotional exhibitionist and you are all the voyeurs.
So, welcome to Audible Edibles, you melomaniacs, a glimpse into the Peep Show of my life and how music influences it. The truth is, I crave music and all of its properties…the story it tells, its therapeutic qualities, and how it seems to be woven throughout every meaningful and mundane experience of my life. By now, I betcha y’er wondering ‘What in the Highway to HELL is Audible Edibles even about?’. Lucky for you, I have the answer. It is about Life – MY life and those around me, pure and simple. It is about those moments we all have (our first hot (or not-so-hot) make-out sesh and the song that was playing in the background, etc.). It is about those experiences that cut us like a knife, that break us open, and that help us find growth, which we’ve buried deep because we’re too scared shitless (see above) to share and be seen.
This column is little blips and stories of my own journey and achieving my Bucket List along the way. Like I said, I don’t wanna be Anonymous. I want you to consume every last delicious word here week after week. Eat it up. Devour it. ASK FOR MORE. Like Morrison himself, I want the way the words roll off my tongue and onto this platform (which from this point forward I will consider my digital confessional) to titillate the hell outta you! “Papa Don’t Preach”, according to Madge, but, goddammit, I’m gonna do some cathartic preaching and Truth spitting up in here! Sometimes irreverent and self-deprecating, other times reflectively raw and humorous, but every time you will catch me being figuratively bare in the Realness Department. Wide-open and vulnerable, delivering stories that expose my soul and offer a glimpse into my somewhat embarrassing intimate moments, all the while being laced with that powerful drug we all know so well – MUSIC. I need it. You need it. We all do. Because, really folks, let’s not forget why we are here — we are all serious addicts of the melodic kind. And I don’t want to stop and neither do you.
Keep giving your ears permission to indulge in the musical pleasure dome we have available to us on the streets. Keep feeling the dopamine surge through your body with each kick of the drum and with each strum of the guitar. Keep scouring old record shops for something more. It all makes you feel so alive, no? Music. It’s our universal Mr. Brownstone, ladies and gents. Let’s face it: we are all Recordholics, and Audible Edibles is our fix.
