There are moments in our lives that are profound and nothing less than transformational. This moment came to me a few months before my seventeenth birthday. My parents were musicians as far back as any memory could take me. It was a part of their fabric, the very essence of their being. My father played guitar and was recording at home long before it became so easily accessible to general public. My mother was a singer unparalleled in power and performing ability. Every weekend they would go out and I was left wondering what exactly was transpiring on those outings. I had no musical ability whatsoever and the life of a musician was a complete mystery to me. I felt a little left behind and they were confused as to why I hadn’t shown any inclination to the art form of music. My folks had long ago given up hope that I would join them in their musical journey.

Then the moment came, unforeseen and at the time unremarkable. My father dabbled in playing the harmonica and I was one day inexplicably drawn to the unassuming little instrument one Saturday afternoon. I honked on it as anyone would and made sounds that a beginner would make. Then I hit one. I hit a note that sounded like something one would play on purpose and my father instantly recognized it. “That sounded pretty good son” he said. He encouraged me to give it a try and I subsequently locked myself in my room for two weeks with some Little Walter and Muddy Waters and came out with a deeper understanding of what the Blues is and just how important to music it really was.