Like a Moth to a Flame

I remember the first time I realistically and actually and wholeheartedly and emotionally felt drawn to start or join a band.

June 8, 2001. Chain Reaction in Anaheim. I was at a bonfire in Laguna Beach with my UCI hallmates from Cumbre, and a couple friends mentioned they were going to see Ozma. I was first introduced to Ozma earlier that year when I saw them open up for Weezer down in La Jolla.

So, I hopped in the car with my friends, and we took a super circuitous route to get to Anaheim from Laguna Beach. 73 North to the 55 North to the 91 West to the 57 South to the 5 North. We were outside of the venue about 45 minutes after we left Laguna. When I think about it, it’s kinda weird the things you remember… (like freeways taken to a concert…)

We didn’t have tickets and there was no one walking into the venue so we assumed it was sold out. Then one of my friends walked up to the ticket box and asked and yes there were tickets would you like one, um, yes, yes, we would, thank you. Enter venue. Smelly, sweaty, sticky, superb. It was the first “real” show I had ever been to. Pushing through the crowd to get to the stage. Elbows in the back. Shoulders to the chin. Soaking shirts rubbing against raw skin. And I fell in love with it, with the whole experience, with the sights and the sounds and the sounds and the sounds and the smells and the sounds and the feeling of a sweat soaked shirt making you shiver in the breeze but mostly with the sounds...


I was already messing around with some buddies, playing guitar, writing songs, but now the vision was crystallized into a vision. Get up on that stage and make other people sweaty through the power of your music and your energy and your presence...


God, what a great night...

Pushing Boundaries

Is what I'm doing, playing, writing, singing... is any of it pushing the boundaries enough?

I took a directing class while I was a third year at UCI. There were several memorable moments throughout the quarter, but one that sticks out most of all is a discussion regarding an excerpt from a play that I've since forgotten. A classmate had been assigned this scene to direct... and there was a line in the script that called for the main character to gaze into some sort of device that contained the universe or some sort of prism with beauty beyond articulation. I really wish I could remember which play/ scene/ character/ plot device was being discussed. Anyways, my classmate had chosen to make the device more believable and not so outlandishly beautiful/ unbelievable. And our professor, the wise sage Keith Fowler, asked, "Why would you want to do that? If given the choice between making something ordinary or making something beyond belief, why would you settle for ordinary?" And that stuck with me... if only subconsciously up until this blog post.

Am I settling for the ordinary? Am I doing work that's just "good enough"? Or am I pushing myself to reach the point where my work/ music/ performance is beautiful beyond articulation...? Or at least memorable so as to force the audience to pick a side of the fence...

It's 22:52. Go work on forcing people to have an opinion about you, Glynn. Go push some boundaries...