When I was in high school, I was a part of the men’s choir, Only Men Aloud or OMA for short. It was one of my favorite parts of my time as a teenager. It was a real constant for a good time. It may as well have been a fraternity the way we behaved and the games we played. We’d dub the freshmen with descriptive nicknames (except one kid who we just decided to start calling Doug despite the fact that was not even remotely close to his name). If you ever see me, remind me how we played a game called “All In”.

I remember a young man by the name of Jeff once ripped his pants in the middle of class. Our fearless leader, Mr. Watt, decided to take the moment to create a unifying memory and placed the the ripped pants above the classroom for all to see. There they hung, a symbol of rebirth from death. We even pledged allegiance to those khakis a few times. They stayed up there until the school flooded during Hurricane Harvey. Long live Jeff’s pants and what they represented.

One of my favorite traditions was after each concert, my better half in the widely acclaimed acoustic guitar duo Band Sanitizer, Aaron, would hop on the piano and lead us all in a rendition of “With Arms Wide Open” by Creed. We’d lock arms around each other in a circle and sing the timeless lyrics in our best Scott Stapp impressions. It was probably a bizarre sight for anyone outside of the circle, but we loved it.

I would quietly think about how this is all funny to us now, but a lot of these dorks I’d aligned myself with would probably grow up to be fathers some day and the song might take on some new meaning. It’s funny how a song can change meaning to you when the song itself hasn’t changed one bit, right?

Here in the year 2025, I’ve noticed a return to form culturally with what many are dubbing “Butt Rock”, featuring Creed as a flagship of this brand. They’re even co-headlining a festival with Nickelback, the other big name in the “genre”. I think it’s interesting to note that for so long, they were often cast out and ridiculed for simply making the music they were making. Granted, all of these bands are much richer than I so maybe I’m speaking to a weak point, but I have to wonder what caused this pendulum swing? The music didn’t change, so I guess we all did. What’s up? Are we seeking something familiar? Or something simpler? What really transformed the hearts of so many that we embrace something we once mocked?

The world continues to feel like a metaphorical daily volcanic eruption, with every notification popping up to tell us another horrible thing we should know. This is certainly the loneliest generation. But does it have to be?

I’m a waiter/bartender/substitute teacher/dogsitter with a degree I rarely use these days, so I know I probably don’t have the answer. Please take advice from someone who has completed a book more recently than me.

But I see videos of men belting along to “Higher” and “One Last Breath”, decades after the songs came out and I can’t help but wonder (is this my Carrie Bradshaw moment?) if the answer lies somewhere in there. I’m reminded of the community I felt in high school, all of us gathered around the piano, singing in unison. You see the crowds screaming “Pink Pony Club” by Chappell Roan or when a bachelorette party gets a hold of a karaoke mic for “Dancing Queen” by ABBA. Campfires with acoustic guitars, pubs singing in unison with pints of lager in their hands, children’s choirs in Africa with the brightest smiles you’ve ever seen. Community and music are often the quickest way to catharsis and the world requires that of us. Life is hard, but it’s easier together.

All I know is, music isn’t worth it if it can’t be shared and all we’ve got on this big spinning ball is each other. So here’s to ripped pants, Scott Stapp and the future.

I’d found myself staring down my first finals week in college. The frightening monster I’d heard so much about. Late nights in the library, little to no sleep, the pressure weighing everyone down. My university did seem to make a point to try and help alleviate some of the stress. The fan favorite was the therapy dogs they’d park next to the cafeteria for students to meet. I certainly loved it but I’d quietly laugh because I knew those dogs were far more interested in whatever delicious smells were coming from the next room over. Food they’d never get to try. Accidentally cruel of you OCU, I hope those dogs got some treats!

But finals week meant Christmas break was right around the corner. I sat in my little twin bed, plucking along to “Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer”. My suitemate, Greg, heard me playing and popped his head in. I always liked Greg. One of those guys that was everything he always claimed to be. Honest and sincere.

Greg also had a streak of saying some bizarre things. All of them were ultimately harmless but we all got a kick out of it.

As I stopped playing to chat with him, Greg said “You know, you should just take your guitar and start playing carols in the elevator. I think people would like it”.

“That’s a great idea, Greg. I’ll make a list of Christmas songs I know!”, I replied.

Greg had just changed my life. He followed up with…

“Yeah, and you’d definitely get mad pu**y doing that”

(I did not)

But I went into the elevator and started playing Christmas carols. I’ve always loved Christmas, and the music is the best part.

People were either shocked, surprised or bothered by me but I just kept playing. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was essentially busking.

Some students even made a point to sing along or gift me with candy. The Christmas spirit was alive and well in Walker Hall that day.

This eventually became a regular thing. I was even hired by one of the campus complexes to do it during orientation week. They paid me with a blu-ray player.

I had garnered some kind of reputation as the “Elevator Caroler”. Someone even wrote an article about me being an OCU cryptid. I’ve always loved Bigfoot and other cryptids so I was highly complimented.

In the midst of all of this, I was still an insecure mess. We don’t need to dwell on it, but despite my best efforts, it was more noticeable than I’d realized and the more I tried to hide it, the worse the reactions from others seemed to be. I would advise not living life like that.

I say this because during my final days of drama school, the seniors got one night to sit down and chat with our professors and get real about life after college. I stole a friend’s idea of asking the question “What advice would you give ME specifically?”. I received varied answers from the elders of our tribe. One professor looked me dead in the eye and said “Matt, not everything has to be funny….”.

I didn’t like how correct he was about me. When you don’t like yourself very much, you’re really afraid of someone knowing you, especially when you don’t remember giving them permission.

“How could he know that about me? Was it that obvious?”

(It was)

Another professor gave me traffic advice for LA. To this day, I can’t remember what he said but he was probably right.

I sat in the office of one professor who had influence among a lot of my peers. I didn’t enjoy her classes very much because it forced me to confront things about myself in front of others or just simply sit still and be with myself. Combine that with the fact that for a semester I was the one singular man in my class and you’ve got a real problem on your hands, folks.

I was pretty convinced she didn’t think very highly of me. To be fair, I don’t think I’d given her much reason to think otherwise, but I asked her the question anyway.

She thought for awhile, really taking her time.

I appreciated that.

She replied, “Matt, you know how you play guitar in the elevator? I’ve seen videos, it’s really fun that you do that. I think you’re gonna need to do something like that. Find your thing. Whatever it is. I certainly don’t know but it’s gotta be from you. Find your thing”.

I couldn’t believe it. How could she have known about that? And to care enough to remember? Had I somehow made an impact?

It certainly impacted me. Years went by and I’d be reminded of that little nugget of wisdom from a source I would have never expected to be given a chance to receive.

You have no idea the things people notice about you. You have no idea the compliments they haven’t given you or the things they want for you. I try to tell everyone now to consider the idea “What if all of the nice things people say about you are true?”.

Despite what the world tries to tell us, a good amount of humanity is actually rooting for each other. Why shouldn’t we? Isn’t it great to see someone succeed in the pursuits they really care about?

All of this is to say

1. Cheer on the little sparks you see in others. You have no idea how much they might need it.

2. Kate, thank you for that and I think I found it.

When I was in 4th grade, I really began feeling confident in my abilities on the guitar. So much so that I decided it was high time I show them off. I begged my teacher, Mrs. Hoover, to let us host a talent show. Somehow, whatever I said or did convinced her (I think the truth is adults got involved) and suddenly everyone had to have a talent ready in a month.

For some reason, I had an orthodontist appointment the morning of the talent show so I arrived late to the very event I’d begged my teacher to put on. Very rock and roll. Artists and creatives aren’t exactly the best at keeping up with their own schedules which is why managers get their percentages. I was also in 4th grade. But I was there, with my guitar and a cowboy hat and boots.

I wanted to be a country singer at this point in my musical journey. Brad Paisley is the reason I picked up a guitar. I’d sing along to his albums “Time Well Wasted” and “5th Gear” and Kenny Chesney’s live album while I showered before bed.

But this was the day I’d try to emulate my newest hero, Johnny Cash. I’d gotten a hold of his greatest hits and it quickly became part of the rotation of shower songs. To this day, I’m not convinced my parents ever noticed the lyrics to “Delia’s Gone”.

I wanted to be Johnny Cash. I certainly wasn’t dressed like him but I wanted the spirit all the same. And I knew “Ring of Fire” would be a winner. Catchy, fun, recognizable and clean enough for 4th grade.

The problem was a 2 parter.

1. I wasn’t as good a guitarist as I thought myself to be. I still couldn’t quite play a G chord with confidence so I settled for playing two strings hoping it would have the same effect. It didn’t.

2. Johnny Cash has a very low register. You get that kind of gravel with age and experience, and I was nine years old and from the suburbs. So I opted to sing it an octave up.

Oh the kids laughed and laughed. My friend AJ seemed to impress everyone with his lacrosse skills (we both would end up finding success in our respective talents). One kid just recited a poem they’d learned, as if saying words someone else wrote was impressive?

How could this be? I’m the one with musical talent! Anyone can do those things, I’m playing an instrument and singing! At the same time!!

But no, I was the fool and they let me know it. Kids would even bring it up in middle school, which is when I was of course the most confident and collected person around so it definitely didn’t affect me at all.

My voice did eventually drop, and by God, if I haven’t gotten requests for Johnny Cash as a gigging musician. And I have it ready to go in the back pocket at all times. I can’t help but laugh these days.

Sometimes the fruits of your labor take time to ripen. Just be sure to give em some sunlight.