Feels like a dream: Part One
At the height of my music career, I had maybe 100 people, at most 200, at my concerts. I actually thought that was a big deal. I'd have teenagers from wealthy families come and faux bow at my feet after a show. I loved it. I also hated it. What really made me think I was a big deal was the many young men and even women come and ask if they could join my band, as if I was supposed to just ditch my crew and take them on, just because they'd asked. As annoying as it was, and as selfish as I thought them to be, that told me something. They admired what they thought was my life and wanted to be a part of it. At least that's what I thought. Despite the "abundance" of shows we played, I could barely pay the band members, I never paid myself and I never really had any money to buy myself costumes for the shows. So when one day, I got an email from a European event planner inviting me to play at a festival in Southern Africa, naturally, I thought to myself, "This ...