If you grew up in a small Midwestern town in the early 90s, you’ll understand when I say that everything was about two years behind the rest of the world. Before the internet truly took off, pop culture and trends had to travel the old-fashioned way—by word of mouth, hand-me-down mixtapes, and the occasional TV broadcast. For me, music was no different.

When I was around 14 or 15, I lived with my grandmother in small-town Iowa. That year, we had one of those massive family reunions—big enough that we had to rent out a hall for the whole day. One of the things I looked forward to most was my cousin Donnie coming up from Florida. He and I got along famously, and that year, he brought something with him that would change my life: a garage band tape of his new band.

It wasn’t about the production quality (which was… well, let’s just say it was homemade). It was about the music—the raw energy, the creativity, the passion. I was hooked. I listened to that tape religiously, and suddenly, my ears were wide open to the world of music. At the time, I was into early 90s rap—the radio-friendly kind, like Will Smith and Beastie Boys. But then, fate intervened.

One day, I turned on MTV—back when they actually played music videos—and a voice snarled, “Hello me, meet the real me.” That was it. Dave Mustaine of Megadeth had just hijacked my brain. The crunch of the guitars, the intensity, the angsty lyrics (which I thought were so deep at the time)—I was all in. Heavy metal had claimed me as its own.

That’s when I made my first major musical purchase: Kill ‘Em All by Metallica on cassette. I wanted—no, needed—to play guitar. Then, as if the universe had heard my plea, my absent father suddenly reappeared. In one of our rare conversations, I told him about my newfound dream. And wouldn’t you know it? He was a guitarist. Even better—he had an old guitar he was willing to give me.

The guitar itself was a relic—a Japanese knockoff with a sunburst paint job and a pickguard big enough to land a plane on. The pickup selector was a weird sliding switch, and the humbuckers buzzed like an angry beehive. But it was mine, and I loved it.

At 16, I moved to Tucson, AZ, where my new neighbor happened to be a guitar player. We spent long nights on the porch, him teaching me about the blues. My first amp was a Frankenstein monster I cobbled together using a speaker cabinet and a repurposed record player. (Shoutout to my early foray into electrical engineering—somehow, I didn’t electrocute myself.)

Before long, I was playing all the time. I found like-minded metalheads at school, and we started a band. It wasn’t great, but it was exactly what I wanted: a bunch of misfits thrashing away in a garage, making noise, playing house parties, and getting told we were awesome (even if that was mostly out of politeness).

At 17, I dropped out of school—but before you judge, I got my GED six months later and went on to earn a degree in Audio Engineering from the Conservatory of Recording Arts and Sciences. My call center job may have locked me in its grasp for years, but at least it paid for new gear.

Over time, our band evolved. We became One Eye Open, a five-piece with me on guitar, my best friend on bass, a drummer from a message board, a high school friend on flute (yes, flute), and a singer we found through an ad. Our sound? Think Jethro Tull meets Nirvana. We rented a jam room at a place everyone called Jane G’s—named after the ninja-like Chinese lady who owned it and had an uncanny ability to appear behind you out of nowhere.

We played bars all over Tucson and even a few in Phoenix. Our biggest moments? Opening for Jeffree Star at Club Congress and becoming finalists in the Bodog Battle of the Bands. We didn’t win, but we made our mark on the Southwest music scene.

Then, in ‘96, my world turned even darker—in the best way possible. Bloody Kisses by Type O Negative dropped, and suddenly, Goth/Doom Metal was my everything. Then, one fateful October night, my friend called in a frenzy: Hed P.E. was playing a surprise show at a Tucson club called The Paragon (RIP, now just an empty lot). But they weren’t the only ones playing. The real surprise? Type O Negative was headlining.

Best. Night. Of. My. Life.

Peter Steele himself walked the line outside, signing autographs. Let me tell you—at 6’2”, I don’t often feel small, but standing next to Peter Steele? I felt like a child. The man was a mountain. Shaking his hand felt like he could snap my arm off without effort. And then, the show? Absolute perfection.

When Peter Steele passed away, it was devastating. The band knew they couldn’t continue without him, and honestly, it was the right call. But Type O Negative never stopped being my favorite band. Even as I write this, Tripping a Blind Man is blasting through my headphones.

Recently, I decided to switch things up. I’ve always been a guitarist, but lately, the bass has been calling my name. So, I finally took the plunge and bought one—a 4-string Ibanez MiKro. If you’re looking to start playing bass, I highly recommend it. Shorter scale, easy to handle, perfect for beginners or guitarists making the switch.

And who knows? A Goth/Doom Metal band might just be in my future.

What’s Your Musical Origin Story?

I’ve shared my journey—from a garage tape to opening for Jeffree Star to meeting Peter Steele. Now, I want to hear yours! What was the moment that made you fall in love with music? Drop your story in the comments!