My mom was strict about my piano lessons. I remember the smooth slippery piano bench. I remember that I couldn’t sit still. Her persistent strong command from cheerful to demanding. It was a homework assignment to me. A lesson after school that I struggled through. I tried to pay attention. I wanted to respond to my own demands of plastic characters answering to my own small wishes. When I was 11, the school music program came after me. Definitely not for my unanswered piano playing. Because I hid whenever I could. I spoke only when I had to. See, there was a world in my head that was far more interesting. I quickly learned that I had a disarming smile, which worked for just about most any situations. Maybe it was my dad’s big band and jazz records playing through the last working dusty speaker in the kitchen that I preferred over bible teachings. Maybe it was Alex Van Halen kicking off Hot For Teacher. When I sheepishly approached my dad for his much needed parent signature to allow me to obtain a pair of drum sticks and a practice pad, I was ready to be turned away. My dad also continually joked about having many other sons to have his own baseball team. God forbid that I wanted to play a wind instrument. I already knew how to count time thanks to my mom, but learning how to hold the sticks was my first challenge. At that time my sunday school teacher was this really cool guy who had played in a lot of prog rock bands. He started teaching me how to play a kit. I remember that he had a huge mirror near the kit, he explained that it was for checking out his form. I never forgot that. He taught me how to play a lot of Rush songs, which really put me ahead in the drum department. I remember one guy in marching band who insisted on playing a drumkit in his socks. I knew even then that it was just for show. Fast forward to me playing drums in Europe in my dress shows…… anyways, they wanted me to play drums for the church. Can you imagine anything more uninteresting? This is NOT WHAT KEITH MOON WOULD DO. Groan. and groan again. I met the odd balls in the church, the skate boarders, the free thinkers, the smarty pants, the handsome boyz. I had my first band, and I had no idea how to play all these drums, but play is what I did. I took no prisoners, and I never looked back. So many stories to tell. I leave you with the origin. How a young hell boy leapt from the furnace of hell. How a young hell boy said, fuck it, I’ve got a better idea. And Rich Freitas said, “are you going to lay all of these drums?” It was a good question. and play them, I did. Or so I thought. East Village, NY, I bombarded you in ’97. I think that it’s been a good thing, yes? So, I miss my mom and her intense teachings. She always wondered if the performances were effected by all of the smoking and madness of the late 90’s in New York. I still do it, mom. I am forever thankful for your teachings. Perhaps part of my drum madness presents part of you, I can only hope.