Life in the Studio Blog
All posts reflect my own stories and opinions and are not endorsed by WORT or its Board of Directors.
THE DEATH OF ROCK ’N’ ROLL — A MANIFESTO

THE DEATH OF ROCK ’N’ ROLL — A MANIFESTO

ock ’n’ roll didn’t collapse in one dramatic moment—it slowly eroded under shifting culture, digital noise, and a generation that no longer finds rebellion in guitars. This manifesto takes a hard look at the death of the garage band, the rise of hip-hop, the algorithmic takeover, and the moment a 14-year-old called Limp Bizkit “classic rock,” forcing us to confront what rock once was, what it became, and whether it can ever rise again.

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The White Stuff Returns

The White Stuff Returns

After nearly eight years away from winter, I looked out my window today and saw white stuff falling from the sky. It took me a second to remember it’s called snow. At first it looked peaceful, almost magical — until I remembered what it really means: salt, slush, and the lurking terror of getting my wheelchair stuck in a snow drift just trying to grab coffee at QuikTrip. Welcome back to Wisconsin, where the sky hates you but the coffee’s still worth the risk.

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Love in the Air (and Through the Ceiling)

Love in the Air (and Through the Ceiling)

After eight years of living in houses, I forgot how thin apartment walls can be. At 3:45 in the morning, I woke to the unmistakable sounds of enthusiasm from the neighbors upstairs — complete with creaking bed, rhythmic thumping, and plenty of moaning. By the time the “series finale” ended around 5 a.m., I was equal parts exhausted, amused, and reminded that apartment living comes with… perks.

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Losing My Metal Card (and Finding My Groove Again)

Losing My Metal Card (and Finding My Groove Again)

I’ll probably lose my metal card for saying this, but Taylor Swift’s new album The Life of a Showgirl is damn good. Blame Amber for getting the hooks stuck in my head. Between discovering pop that actually hits and replacing my dead 25-year-old Alesis monitors with KRK Rokit 5s, I’ve been reminded that music doesn’t care about genres—it just needs to make you feel something.

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Stranded by Greyhound, Rescued by Alpha

Stranded by Greyhound, Rescued by Alpha

I didn’t fall off the face of the earth—I just got stuck ten feet in the air on the side of a Greyhound bus, stranded at Dutch Mill, rescued by a guy named Alpha, and accidentally moved to Eau Claire. It’s cheaper than Madison, the apartment’s mostly accessible, the ethernet jack was wired by a drunk raccoon, and Rolling with Scissors is back just in time for the pledge drive.

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