29 years ago today we convened in your mom's old basement apartment at 371 Garfield St. to hang out and smoke pot. Little did we know what was to emerge from that simple, fun session would shape our musical future. And oddly enough, the words that formed at my father's lips after hearing our music was our battle-cry; our motivation to keep the faith, no matter what others thought or said.
From the siren of the police car just outside your window that we instinctively decided to tape to begin the session, the die was cast. I picked up your backwards-strung acoustic guitar and began to strum unique pseudo-chords, you sang and moaned your bizarre, creative lyrics, pressed the record button on your old boom box and cranked out YP, Appointment, Turkey Roll and others. We even used your kitchen sink's running water as a syncopated rhythm track. Nothing was off limits. We jammed, laughed, taped and played it all back, knowing little of what we had truly done. We were 21.
Through the years that followed, we expanded our arsenal and our repertoire, jamming each Thursday for a while and penning more bizarre lyrics, adding drum machines, keyboards, electric guitars, electronic de-vices. We gave our sessions album names - (fill in the blank) Cuts, whatever we were into at the time and were downright smug about it. We began multi-tracking, which offered an entirely new palette of sound. When we didn't have a rhythm track, we used an empty water bottle and a bag of potato chips. When we didn't have lyrics, we used a newspaper or grocery list to recite or howl the day's events over an interesting chord progression. We made some seriously drug-addled videos and performed a gig and a half only to never returned to the stage - we were too outrageous and innovative even for ourselves. I see that clearly now.
"Hey Jonni, wanna jam?" was our cue to let the tape roll and let the night and our own creative prowess take us where we hadn't been before. The exchange was evident as the songs came seemlessly and effortlessly; lyric meets riff, rehearse once, tape, then onto the next song - lather, rinse, repeat. We adopted a work ethic which, though at the time unbeknownst to me, is eireely poignant for me today - let it flow and let it go.
And now, here we are, on the 29th anniversary of that fateful night. Cold Cuts has shaped the way I play guitar and write songs. It gave me the safe, creative outlet I needed to get me through some hard times as a young adult and has afforded me the gifts of joy, confidence, experimentation and brotherhood along the way. Through all the bands I was ever a part of, joined or lead (and there were many!), Cold Cuts has outlived them all and endured. We're still making music after 29 years. There's something to be said about that.
I salute and honor your endless stream of innovation, articulation, brilliance and absurdity, your willingness to try anything musically for the sake of the song and most significantly, your support and belief in me as a guitarist, writer and musician, even at times when I didn't believe in myself.
And though we opened the door to our sessions on only 3 different occasions (Nappi, Eryn & J9), we are now letting the world in, as it should be at this time. May the upcoming year bring more joy, prosperity and abundance to our lives and continue the creative flow of the world's most fun, outlandish and expressive band, Cold Cuts.
Happy Anniversary, Brother.