Imperfect Women is excited to announce that Adam Hook will be joining our writing staff and sharing his passion for “all things” music with our community. Here is a little bit about Adam:
I was born and raised in Colorado and from the earliest images in my mind, I remember being a fan of music. My mother and father made sure that music was a large part of my life and this has stayed with me throughout the years. One of the first times I remember getting excited about this art form was when my mother played Jethro Tull’s Aqualung. This was life changing for me because the sounds that came out of the speakers were unlike anything that I had heard previous to that glorious moment. I suddenly had to consume every piece of music I could get my hands on. It started with listening to my parent’s records and eventually I surrounded myself with my own musical tastes. This began with punk rock music because, being from a divided home, I could identify with the songs that were shouted out of the speakers and into my waiting ears. Eventually, I branched out into other genres from hip-hop to alt-country. In addition, writing has been a passion of mine since I first read Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment. His words leapt off the page and I knew that I had to be a writer! I am a father, husband, sometime poet and music junkie. Be sure and check out more of Adam’s writing on his blog, Soaked in Sound.
By Adam Hook
I wake up in a cold sweat and look around the room. It takes me a moment to realize that I’m safe at home in my bed. It’s happened again. Memories flash through my mind like lightning strikes. I remember being in a dark room surrounded by wonderful sounds and the silhouettes of dark figures moving in time with the rhythm coming from all sides. My need has been satisfied once more; my fix has filled the emptiness that has recently plagued the center of my being. I have a disease. This disease does not have a colorful ribbon and there isn’t a organization dedicated to cure it. This condition does not have an awareness month, or an annual marathon to raise money to fight the battle against my ailment. You cannot see my illness because it doesn’t present physical signs; besides the occasional shudder, or bobbing of the head. I am an addict; I am a music junkie.
The needle touches the record transmitting the much needed sound to stave my withdrawals and I feel the edge softening. I need a constant stream of melody to satisfy my compulsion. I am always on the lookout for new artists. I consume every bit of music I can get my hands on and still it is not enough. Every waking hour is filled with harmonies, guitar riffs and drumbeats. The people that I surround myself with do not comprehend my affliction, so I must seek out those that understand; those that have similar needs. We meet in concert venues and become one: feeding off each other in order to indulge these cravings for wondrous noise. We become a tribe for those few short hours honoring an ancient ritual that is not understood by outsiders. The feelings we experience paint the walls and add to pages of our collective histories. We exit the building telling stories of what we witnessed, hoping that our oratory will spark the fire in the listener that constantly burns within those of us that share this obsession.
If you do not understand my words, dear reader, imagine a love that cannot be defined by any language that is uttered. A passion that escapes the body in it’s attempt to find a more appropriate vessel to encapsulate itself; but ultimately fails because it cannot be contained. This is how I feel about music. I write these lines to try and explain the unexplainable. It is my hope that, with my limited words, you will get a glimpse into the intimacy I experience with music. Until next time, I hope you enjoy reading these posts as much as I enjoy writing them. Thank you for your time.