I finally did it. Believe it or not, folks, I’ve actually finished recording an album. I’m an official recording artist. And I’m going straight to the top of the charts. Yeah, baby. Shazzam!
Well, not exactly—let me explain. (Or skip the chatter and head straight to the music)
Looking back, the irony is hard to miss and is something of a sore point for me. When I was a teenager, I decided that I’d skip college or university and would instead start a band, get signed to a label, and do the whole touring thing.
Of course, these kinds of pipe dreams seem achievable only to stoners. More importantly, the two bands I formed were terrible. And so I went to university (two universities actually), and earned a B.A. (Honours) in English Literature and a B.Ed. But after six years of post-secondary schooling, I’m still working the same job I had in high school.
In other words, my degrees and higher education have amounted to exactly squat.
And so I’ve found myself exploring older ambitions—namely, music. With that said, however, my record is simply that—mine. I wrote it and recorded it because I knew I’d enjoy doing it. I play the guitar well enough, I suppose, but I don’t fool myself about the quality of my singing voice. Still, I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished and often find myself listening to the 9 track, 20-minute record and feeling a sense of accomplishment.
In this day and age, that’s not such a bad thing.
UPDATE Feb. 20, 2015: No, actually, it is a bad thing. Don’t listen to it. Jeez.
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Rowing For Pleasure is a weekly opinions column written by Z S Roe. Please leave a comment or question—all opinions are welcome, and all contributions are greatly appreciated. If you like what you read here, please subscribe.
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