My Love Letter to Music

Last night, the Rock Hall inducted an eclectic group of artists who have been stitched into my soul since I was ten years old. Awards and ceremonies don’t define meaning, but this one felt like an affirmation that all the time I’ve spent chasing my creative pulse hasn’t been for nothing.

It was surreal watching the presenters and performers…the people I first discovered in my twenties that stood alongside the artists who shaped my childhood. Two generations of influence meeting on the same stage. It felt like watching my artistic DNA unfold in real time.

I voted this year in the fan poll. Maybe it’s small, but it made me feel like I had a hand in the celebration, a quiet part in the story. I’ve spent countless hours lost in The White Stripes’ world, so seeing them honored felt deeply personal. I carry Chris Cornell’s memory with me every day, inked on my arm as a reminder of what survival sounds like. Donald Glover introducing OutKast’s induction was a full-circle moment in and of itself.

With Twenty One Pilots covering Seven Nation Army, suddenly I was back in the crowd of one of the best arena shows I’ve ever attended. Olivia Rodrigo sang the song my wife walked down the aisle to, and Joe Perry took the stage with them all. What an odd constellation of artists who somehow orbit the same sky in my head.

Even Meg White’s absence felt poetic. A silent validation that sometimes choosing peace over performance is the bravest thing an artist can do.

There’s this idea that popular art isn’t important, at least in my head…that if everyone connects with it, it must be shallow. But that luckily has been a rewritten sentiment for me. The artists who filled that stage built the scaffolding I’ve climbed creatively for years. They made me believe that strange, passionate, imperfect people could shape culture and still stay human.

This year, this event in general, hit differently. The timing, the lineup, the memories—it all lined up like a quiet nudge from the universe saying, keep going.

Because when the people who raised your voice finally get their flowers, it’s hard not to feel like you’re growing right alongside them.