Genre Theory

It all came from mysterious origins, the way meaning seems to almost extend from nothingness if you were to try and trace fate back to its source. The inventors, the craftsmen, the artists, toiling over their abducting musical addictions in seclusion, waiting for that rare moment, that epiphany, when they might get the chance to share their wisdom with the world. A time when dreams congregate like spirits in clouds, raining, and seeping down through the Earth to awaken us. To retrieve our thoughts and remind us of why we returned. It’s reminiscent of a puzzle a wise soul once offered me: “When you are ready to solve the Past, start in the Future and work your way back to Now.”

Genre Theory is best understood as a metamorphosis in this way. We have found resolution in each other not bound by formatting and ideology. We do not subscribe to the prescribed way of strife. Instead we rewrite life with fresh revelations. There is no clue left as to what force brought about our meeting. The notes were torn from the sky and dropped on to the pages. We had been here before, yet this time it was different. More involved, more intricate. There was a mission. A common goal: To free music from its slavery; the backwards loop that would attempt to confine our freedom. We had forwarded these thoughts sent to guide us; all that we need do now was listen.

Yes, it was beginning to make a lot of sense…….

Yet……… It still doesn’t explain why when we found Sean, he was wandering in the forest outside of Boulder with his axe slung over his back like a modern day messiah, or why Todd curiosly stumbled upon “The Lost Chord” while studying scrambled transmissions from the depths of space. Nor does it begin to shed light on the coincidental circumstances that led Drew to the top of Mt. Sinai in search of enlightenment, only to find the initials G.T. delicately carved in a Japanese elm. No, it does not do a lot to help anyone grasp the deep seeded reason why we have come about at this time. The only thing that can be ascertained for certain, is that Mike, having left his native planet for reasons of his own accord, found a guitar pick with a phone number scribbled on it after napping in Wash Park and was compelled to track down the owner……