Who’s your Daddy?

Without music, life would be a mistake.

-Friedrich Nietzsche

What can I say? Everybody likes music, don’t they? When I was growing up, there was always music in my house. What I mean by THAT is that my bedroom was right next to the living room, and every weekend, I got to listen to the extremely, extremely loud reggae, soca, and/or jazz music to which my father and his friends were quite partial. So yes, from a young age, it was good to know that music was going to be about rooms full of loud people and bleeding ear holes. In fact, those are still pretty much the best things about music for me now.

Wait. Let me step back for a second or two, because I’m only three lines into this thing and I’m already completely distracted. Y’all don’t even know who I am, nor what I’m even doing. On the other hand, I probably won’t ever know any of that stuff about most of the folks who wind up reading this, so maybe that’s fair.

Well. What am I gonna write about? Probably about music, parenting, parenting a musician, having an adult kid and how weird that is, among other things. I’m also going to derive a great deal of pleasure in spelling things (like humour, centre, and neighbourhood) in the Canadian fashion. Am I qualified to write authoritatively about any of those things? HELL NO. But welcome to the egalitarian world of the Internet. I’m probably also going to subject y’all to random glimpses of my dad-taste in dad-music. And I might swear. So that’s a thing, too.

What am I gonna write about today? You just saw it. And you know what? Stick around. There’s more to come, and it just might be fun for all of us.

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