Posthumously, With Love

It seems like yesterday-my brother, down in the basement, playing Neil Young-  then at the St. Augustine’s rectory with his teen band.  Ten years later he was booking all over the country, with the Philadelphia sensation, Huffamoose.  His songs were amazing, James, I Want to Buy You a Ring, Tumbleweeds.  I was absolutely in awe of his talent, and I remain his biggest fan-to this very day.

While on the phone a few weeks ago, we began talking about SUCCESS, and it hit me again, like waves slapping at the shore line-the bereft feeling that comes when you know your sibling has more talent in his baby toe than most artists out there today.  Let’s face it-as much as I love music, the industry is corrupt, satanic, and cold.  Let’s take a look at Pit Bull for instance.  I remember a particular New Year’s Eve, I was getting ready for bed and I heard my husband say:

“Who the FUCK is Pitbull?”

It got to me, this injustice; until I heard my brother tell me that he wasn’t prepared to do the work to become infamous, or even famous for that matter.  Craig and I have so much in common, from our writing to musical tastes and identical sense of humor-I am so very proud to call him brother.

We have decided, collectively, that one day, long after we have passed the pearly gates, our work will live on posthumously.  And that my friends is the best we can hope for.

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