I’ve decided to shatter the virginal white space of my BLOG with a personal confession. This isn’t easy for me, so allow me a little slack if I begin to stutter.

Here goes . . . .

My name is Spartacus . . . and I’m a music whore.

Wow, that wasn’t so bad after all. In fact, there’s something oddly therapeutic about revealing one’s addiction to a group of close friends, or at least a camaraderie of aging gamers. It’s true, music is an addiction that I’ve lived with for as long as I can remember. Aside from my family, it’s the one thing in this lifetime that rocks my very foundation, pun certainly intended. Granted, the copper smell of gun powder after a well-executed headshot sits on the same shortlist of cheap thrills, but music remains my number one rush.

This habit I’m describing doesn’t know many boundaries. I’ve been the oldest guy in the front row at a Queensryche concert and did the wave amongst a sea of lesbians to the sweet vocals of Sarah McLaughlin. From eighties hair-metal, to contemporary jazz, to a smattering of country, my IPOD knows it all. And way too much of my disposable income goes towards “live” performances of the same.

Enough about me. What I really want to talk about is the “Blue October” show I saw last week here in Tempe, Arizona. If you’re not familiar with the band, you can find them on the rotation of your nearest alternative station. With haunting melodies and darkly tinted lyrics, these guys produce complex tunes that peel away the skin of life to reveal raw nerve endings we can all relate to on one level of another.

A picture is worth a thousands words and the power of the Internet allows me to use a moving one at that. So judge for yourself . . .

If you enjoy this band as much as I do, buy their CD. These alternative artists don’t have timmie allowance dollars to fuel their habits and the requires our “grown up” support to keep delivering music that’s truly a cut above.

Frag' ya soon,

~Spart