Memory Box

It would be only appropriate to being this with the drum kit I learned to play on. It is my fathers custom DW kit. Its essentially the creme de la creme of drum kits and I, a novice player, was fortunate enough to learn on such fine hardware. I remember having to move and shift all the angles of toms and cymbals to fit my own preferences. I was still coming into my own as a player and a person so the fiery kit acted as a set of training wheels to see if I could go the distance and actually stick with it.

What came next was a kit of my own. It is a Tama, blue oyster, star classic. It was the perfect choice for me. It has white and opalescent pearl inlay as well as a blue finish. Getting the kit was basically the equivalent of having my dad hand me the keys to a muscle car I didn’t think I was worthy of. But having something so beautiful as my own inspired me to become worthy of it. The sight of it takes me back to hours and hours of tireless practice; powering through bloody fingers and trying to give one hundred percent to each song. Seeing it now makes me want to return to it. It almost feels like having a long distance relationship. Luckily shiny, loud lover will never leave me.

This was a photo taken in from of the studio my first band would rehearse at. I am on the far left trying my hardest to look the part of the drummer. The studio was ironically titled “Silent Partner Studios” though the inhabitants were anything but. We were youngsters amongst seasoned, and cynical older musicians. They spoke to us like we were no different. Age was not a factor in this equation. They would tell us they saw themselves in us, and they would smile wide every time we would arrive. The studio was shrouded in plants, with dirty old couches in every corner. It was a renovated car wash, so each studio space was protected by a three inch thick sliding door that surprisingly didn’t do much for sound proofing. No one minded the bleeding of sound from each room. In between songs it was almost a tradition to sit out on the dusty couches and listen closely as all the differ sounds bounced of the dangling foliage around us. It was a different world and I would take it everywhere with me if I could.

My Aunt Mary’s ring. She was a horse breeder for years and had a house on acres of land with stallions running free. She was my mothers namesake and though we never got to meet I felt a kindred connection to her. I always felt guilty for never having seen her. When she passed away, my mother went to the house to collect relics and antiques and this ring was one of the things she came back with. This was a time of great discovery for myself and I figured I could use the extra good luck. It felt nice to have some sort of talisman to rub if I needed a bit of extra good luck in the day. Not being a religious person, this superstition is about as close to faith as I get. Its nice to carry family with you wherever you go, and feel that they are helping you out in times of need.

My leather jacket. Modeled after the classic 1950’s motorcycle jacket, mine is constructed of recycled leather. If you look closely at it you can see the cross stitches of different jackets all sown together to make one unified thing. I was attracted to this frankenstein element to the jacket and knew I had to have it. Since that day it goes basically everywhere with me. I always get excited when the winter moths role around and I have an excuse to wear it.

When I met The Dead Kennedy’s drummer, D.H Peligro the first thing I said to him was that we both play the drums and we both have the same taste in jackets. What he said to be will stay with me forever. He looked down at his jacket and said, “Yeah, but this ones got history”. After we shared a light together I really took what he said to heart. Ever since, I have taken that jacket to every gig, concert, show, road trip, or late night adventure. In every stitch I hope to imbue my own personal history and make all the different frankenstein stitched unify to tell my story.