I woke up to the piercing sound of an electric guitar this morning. It was coming from the neighbor’s garage. Their son was working on his music, at least that’s what HE calls it anyway. Don’t get me wrong, I love Heavy Metal or any music that embraces “scratchy” sounds, call it a cat thing, but what’s coming out of his guitar is something that the scientists in Oklahoma are still trying their best to define. Having said all that, I’ve heard it so many times that I am used to it by now. Not only that I often pay a visit to listen to him live, in his daddy’s garage not on a stage, that dream persists in being a mirage in a distance, for HIM, not for me. My dream still lives within the limits of probability, however unlikely it may seem:
Our neighborhood bakery starts adding fresh mango to their carrot cake. Holler!!!
Anyway, our rocker buddy’s name is Eric, well not really, he’s real name is Samuli but he quit using that as soon as he became a Nordic Metal enthusiast and insisted that everybody should call him Eric. Apparently, it sounded more “Vikinguesque”, is that even a word? Not by a long shot. It seemed like a harmless request at first but not everyone was happy with that. One of the postmen in our local post office filed a 12-page complaint about Samuli/Eric. It got him nowhere though and by the time the case went to court the guy had already quitted his job there and started working at a candy store as a shelf decorator.
Back to Eric,
One should not be deceived by his long hair because, believe it or not, his first love was breakdancing. He was determined to work hard and become the best dancer in the area. But his potential audience neither had the time nor the patience for it and they let him know that by sending him an anonymous e-mail.
He was lost for a while; he didn’t know what he was supposed to the with his life. His father was, still is, rich beyond belief and that didn’t make things easier. Then it dawned on Eric that metal was the answer because he had always been around metallic things for some reason. It was almost as if he couldn’t stay away from it or something.
His first job as a young man was at a hardware store. He was happy around chains, tools, shovels, raincoats and what not until he got fired, that is, for selling a reversible drill for the price of a second-hand garden hose. Then he immediately started working at a locksmith but soon realized that, although he was quite fond of locks of any kind and he found them fascinating, the same thing couldn’t be said about the keys. Eric discovered that he hated them with a vengeance. It got him thinking that maybe it was the work his subconscious, all those times, as a child, when he had dropped or left his keys somewhere and never seen them again. It had even gotten to a point where his mother had had to quit her job at the university to stay home all day waiting for him to show up after school without any “indoor access tool assistance”, yet again.
Eric may not be a great musician but all that he had lived through, he puts into his noise and he plays from the heart. The intensity of his style makes his sound get heavier and heavier, eventually he breaks a string or two and THAT’s where I come in.
Millie