Mini reunion back at home this Easter weekend. I must know a hundred Kevins but there's only one saved in my phone as just "Kev."
Kev understands the important stuff, like that stereo systems need to be assembled from components, and you need a turntable. He has a vinyl collection that cost more than my education and has been arguably more influential.
I figured out somewhere around 1998 that Kevin doesn't translate. If you want to listen to music the way Kev does, he kind of needs to be there. If you try to do it in your truck, with other friends, they might kick up a bit of resistance when you play "Stairway to Heaven" four consecutive times and tell them, "This time REALLY LISTEN to the drums. JUST THE DRUMS."
Modern, grownup, non-Kev friends are liable to protest, "I can't listen to it the way you listen to it because I'm not a 15-year-old boy."
Fine. If you need me I'll be over here playing air drums in all the bands I've made up in my head. Internal combustion engine. Apex predator. Face for Radio.
Go ahead and judge me. There are two kinds of people in this world, air musicians and liars.
Bear in mind, all of this is a significant upgrade from my earliest aspiration, which was to be the girl on the car in the Whitesnake video.
Bear in mind, all of this is a significant upgrade from my earliest aspiration, which was to be the girl on the car in the Whitesnake video.
Alternate titles for this post included "Kevin can wait," "Just like Kevin," and of course, "Kevin isn't too far away," RIP Jani Lane.
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