Release the Inner Rockstar!

I've always believed that every man is a rockstar, fighting to pretend to be something else.  In my case I fight to be normal.  A father and a provider and a functioning, taxpaying citizen.  It's a farce, but at least I have the self-awareness to admit it.  Semi-publicly.

For the past several years I've had an incurable case of instrument ADD.  I keep buying new instruments, mainly stringed, with the full intent on becoming the next Tommy Emmanuel, Vic Wooten, David Grisman, Jake Shimabukuro, or Bela Fleck.  The reality is that I'll never get past the Sloth-Love-Chunk phase of any of these instruments.  But I can totally pretend.

That said, I'm somewhat musical.  I can play a mean piana'.  I dabble in a few other things.  Just enough to fill my minstrel bucket.  I've been musically putting my littles to bed for years now.  I did the storybook thing and it was fun, but singing them to sleep is an experience unlike any other.  I just love it.

I've lately had this bee in my bonnet to make sure these songs and experiences are documented.  So I record them.  Some video.  Some audio.  And lately I found the coolest little app that allows me to record multiple tracks of a song on video.  I've had a lot of fun with it.  And I think my kids will one day cherish them.

I'm no singer.  Period.  I can carry a tune, but the bucket has its work cut out for it.  Yet I am entirely over my apprehension and self doubt.  I'm 40 and grizzled and proud to be me.  So check me out.  I have so many ideas swirling for future songs.  It's just too fun.