Fare thee well, my dearest friends at Katzin Music! I wanted to say a couple things about the people that nurtured, supported, and fed me (indirectly) for the last three and a half years. And though I’m still in the neighborhood and will surely be around, I felt it necessary to get this out. Here are a few things I’d like to share that I missed:
There is a place that some musicians go. It is the same place that many do not dare to go. This place is the deep, dark and harrowing world that is effects pedals. I hadn’t the slightest idea how deep the rabbit hole went when I began working at Katzin Music. I don’t think I do now, even. This pedal, the LF7, was put on sale about a week after I started working and it is still there to this day. In a sick way, I hope it never sells. I’ll miss seeing this pedal every day like a security blanket. After a few days off, I’d always check the cabinet just to make sure no one had bought it while I was gone. I love you, Lo-fi pedal.
I’ll miss the bizarre assortment of musical instruments that come through the store on a regular basis. Instruments that really make you question just what the fuck humans are all about. What is this? Why it’s an autoharp and you’ll regret asking any further questions about it.
I’ll miss the things that were dazzling in both appearance and engineering. The objects that prompted questions and thus a fountain of knowledge you didn’t know existed. Do you know the nuances of laminates and solids? Not only know, but understand? What makes the tones and acoustics different when traveling through either maple or mahogany? I’ll miss learning about these strange things.
I’ll miss this sign.
I’ll miss both taking and giving shit to various teachers. The after-hours debates and discussions about baseball, a game I know nothing about, and the never-ending stream of vulgarities and disgusting jokes when no one was around.
I’ll miss filing the three or four hundred student cards a week. Thumbing through countless simulacra of nuggets of knowledge. Crystallized moments of life, now taking form as scribbles on a piece of blue cardstock. Scribbles that not only represent a transaction, but a part of a life spent laughing, crying, learning, listening, straining, working, or relaxing.
I’ll miss directing those in need to “studio 13.”
I’ll miss this workbench. This spot where I’ve spent many hours hunched over a mangled piece of wood, forcing, willing the damned things to make not just noise, but music. How thoughtful have I felt here? How pretentious, too? How many great conversations have sprouted here, over the dissected and dismantled instruments?
I’ll miss the impressive amount of notes strewn about the store, each trying desperately to communicate something important. Or not.
I’ll miss the commentary on the latest in science and science fiction and science fantasy (yes there’s a difference). The collective swooning over things like different types of salts or honey varieties and just how perfect that bread is toasted and buttered. I’ll miss the stash of ketchup. I’ll miss our fearless leader. Our sweet, wonderful, strong, independent, flute-playing, gun-slinging, half-blind, insanely-competent, sympathetic, intelligent and terrifying leader.
I’ll miss this workspace and the conversations held around it. I cannot stress to any individual just how important this space is, and not just to me, but to many others. I also cannot convey just how much I’ll miss being around it so often.
I’ll miss the quiet. The isolated universe where things were silent and thoughtful. The calm before the storm.
This place is my family and friends. This place was a significant part of my life for years. It’s the end of an era and the start of a new one. I’m learning to appreciate everything about this place, even its absence in my day-to-day life. In a strange way it feels good to feel so sad. It’s good to miss it so much. It’s my place.