Episode 1: On the Pink Ninja in the Rain

An affectionately highjacked drawing of a pink ninja in the rain is, admittedly, an unlikely inaugural image for a blog espousing the merits of contemporary independent music and dilettantish bedroom poetry. I've half a mind to feign some far-fetched symbolic pretext as my rationale; the ninja is the disciplined and dedicated independent musician locked in constant battle with the watered-down majority that rains upon him; his drenched pink ninja suit a brilliantly colored rebellion of pomp and circumstance against convention's greyscale mediocrity; his katana the lean luster with which he pierces the comfort and expectation of antagonistic naysayers; and his poised and patient stance the understated manner with which he strikes his fatal blows.

But it's not nearly that complicated--or self-important.

Don't get me wrong--the ninja really is a symbol. But what it symbolizes is more straightforward and practically applied to its intended function. The story goes like this: a good friend of mine--whom for years I've been trying unsuccessfully to convince of his talent as an artist--finally caved and sent to both me and my roommate three small drawings. Two of these three drawings are now framed and hang majestically on my roommate's bedroom wall next to a dejected, post-2008 Super Bowl Tom Brady. The third drawing is the pink ninja you see above. The ninja is now framed and he sits dutifully atop one of my two 1967 Jensen PR-150 speakers. I've convinced myself that his little ninja feet relish the warm vibrations sent from the sounds of each record that revolves on my turntable. In reality he may be plotting what will be my untimely death. I don't know. I don't know the contemporary musical inclinations of pink ninjas.

Regardless, this ninja--this drawing--has come to symbolize a willingness to shed one's debilitating self-consciousness and divulge one's talents to the world. I was proud of my friend for having enough confidence in his artwork to finally send me something that I might hang on my wall; for believing that, yes, I wanted his artwork because I genuinely believed it was magnificent; for believing in himself and taking a risk that allowed his love for art to be showcased, embraced, and--perhaps most important of all--criticized by those who know nothing of him personally.

It is with a very heartfelt thank-you to my friend, and a humble desire to be heard, that I begin to divulge to you my love of the arts. My goal is to share with any willing reader the albums, poems, books, films, and observations that move me. I welcome criticism. And I feel it especially important to reassure those who already know me--but especially those who don't--that I am not, despite commencing with an earnest anecdote, attempting to create a space steeped somberly in seriousness. There's nothing worse than some douchey, pretentious bloke who fancies himself a critic forcing his--ahem--opinion down your throat. And using words like "bloke" when he's American. And discussing the symbolic significance of a pink ninjas. So I'll be sure to avoid all that stuff.

Next Episode: On Record Reviews

("Pink Ninja in the Rain" was drawn by the talented Jordan Sgandurra who resides in Boulder, Colorado)