Jackson Free Press

Sometimes I wish that I was wired like everyone else. I've never been content to simply turn on the radio and be entertained. I've certainly never been one to like something just because it's popular.

As a child, I probably recognized my faulty internal wiring when, instead of Superman or G.I. Joe, my heroes were the members of KISS; I associated more with KISS guitarist Ace Frehley than Peter Parker. Here was a superhero who played rocking guitar solos and shot sparks from the end of his instrument.

It wasn't just KISS that floated my musical boat, though. I also had imaginary tea parties with the likes of Rod Stewart and Mick Jagger. My box of 45-rpm singles not only contained Disney storybooks, but artists as diverse as Blondie, Gary Numan and George Benson.

When my cousin bought the 12-inch single of Sugarhill Gang's "Rapper's Delight," I had never heard anything like it. It was like an alien landed in my radio.

I remember my plastic, portable turntable and listening to albums such as KISS' "Love Gun" and Queen's "News of the World." Those records still are special to me.

By the time I reached middle school, I joined the legions of AC/DC fans, mostly 12-year-old boys like myself. In seventh grade, my aunt took me to the Mississippi Coliseum to see Whitesnake. It was loud and obnoxious: just the thing a boy in junior high should see.

Also during that time, I discovered R.E.M. The band was different and smart. This was just as R.E.M. was about to break big, so liking the music was akin to being a member of a secret club.

Run-D.M.C. and the Beastie Boys were bringing rap music to new audiences, and my friends were no exception. Our parents hated it, which was just fine by me. I figured parents were supposed to hate their kids' music.

By the time I got to high school, I had gone completely off the deep end, by listening to everything from Andrew Lloyd Webber's musicals to Metallica. I also went back in time a little and discovered the music of The Beatles—for any fan of music that is equivalent to hearing music for the first time.

When I was in college in the mid '90s, it was sort of a golden age for alternative music. Bands like Nirvana and Pearl Jam sent Warrant and Poison to the unemployment line, and the amount of guitar-based music exploded. In addition to this really cool new music, I was also exposing myself to composers from Igor Stravinsky to Frank Zappa.

In another lifetime, perhaps I would have pursued my trombone playing to become a jazz player. Instead, my friend, Danny, thought it would be a good idea for me to learn how to play bass guitar, which turned my sights to being in a band. If R.E.M. taught me what role people should play in a band, then Big Star taught me what kind of band I wanted to be in.

When I started writing songs, I began to appreciate the obvious stars like Bob Dylan and Pete Townshend, but I also gained an affinity for Michael Nesmith and Elvis Costello.

One thing has remained constant in my life: music. I've always been drawn to its uplifting qualities. I think music should always make people happy and be a source of joy, whether it's from classical, hip-hop or metal.

When someone says the music of Brian Wilson helped them through hard times, I can relate: It happened to me.