Oh, back when the world was mine to conquer, back when hopes and dreams weren’t illusions and nightmares, back when the future was bright instead of this inescapable dull, grey malaise – back when my neck didn’t look like a turkey with gout got stung by an angry bee.
I was born and raised in the quaint, quiet, oil-lamp lit fishing hamlet of Anchorage, Alaska:
I was raised on a steady diet of Kenny Rogers, Will Nelson, Johnny Cash, Eddie Rabbit, and countless other story tellers (I was also raised on too much food, but that’s neither here nor there). Long road trips in the Pace Arrow Motorhome to spend the weekend fishing and camping laid the groundwork for my own musical tastes – tastes that were further refined by Tom Petty, The Counting Crows, and other bands that my friends and I would listen to on the road when I traded camping with the family for camping with my friends as a young adult.
After my dad passed and my mom left state, I eventually found my way to North Dakota, where friends like this crazy lady dressed as a devil pirate hooker…