In the September it will be tree years since Mark started to perform all alone. Something like that would be unthinkable when he was kid. In those days, his favorite bands had drummer, Guitar player, Bass player and lead vocal. True there were some with keyboards, heck even some with sax or trumpets. But the ones he liked the most were the ones fore mentioned. No bullshit, good rhythm section, wizard on the guitar and powerful vocal.

Mark never outgrown that phase in his life, and it was no wonder that he joined a band before dropping out of the school at the age of sixteen. Those were the days. Living like a family, practicing all days, spending night moving around, practically begging for a chance to play before the crowd. So happy back then, without really knowing it. They were true friends, four of them, and although there were no money in it, they had the right kind of attention to feed upon it. Everyone that were important to them knew about their band, including the girls they cared about. Fuck they even had a song that made them kind of famous, at least all over their home town. “Drunk oblivion”. Mark smiled at the memories.

Truth was they sucked. Steve could hardly manage three chord, George was slipping on the bass every now and then, and Bob was the crazy son of the bitch; never minding what they agreed upon, he liked to put up five minutes drum solo on every gig they had. And his voice was not so good back then. Partly because of stage fright and partly because of lack of experience they sounded like something vaguely familiar pulled through a giant distortion. It took years of trials and errors to got to any decent level.

By that time they managed to learn secrets of the trade, but it was also the period of first creative disagreements. Their most successful years were plagued with quarrels and fights, breaking ups and reunions. Words that he wrote for their songs would be challenged and rewritten time after time again. Melodies Steve came with were predictable and just too similar to something else. At the end there were no clans and faction. They hated each other guts, and split was final as much as inevitable. Bob went on with his father jobs, George got married and divorced and mostly drunk, and Steve went missing right about after his first solo album.

His solo career dragged on like an old plastic bag kicked around the town by the winter winds, until he got introduced to the “Amordion”, the cutting edge technology miracle. It made him a One man Band. There was so much of it that he didn’t understand, but it was not important that he understand every single bit of it to make it a perfect tool. More than a tool. It was an ultimate experience. Yes, you do feed it with tabs and sheets before it is able to play the music, but it is not just some stupid rhythm machine. It plays guitar, and bass and drum and whole rhythm section harmonized with the state of your soul. That things read your feelings, moods, thrills and fears, and it shows in a music.

Oh does it shows. Since you never feel quite the same, your music is never quite the same and it never comes close to be boring. On a whim, on a stage, he could suppress drums and bass, raise and clear his voice to a vibrant colors of his mind fields. Or let it go in a wild crescendo of screaming guitar and beat of the drum, while he hums with his eyes closed. It gave him confidence it gave him power it gave him fame. In a short time he surpassed the status of a rising star and become a star one step above the rest. He was respected and had a much wanted means to convey his message to the people around the world.

Mark hated all of it. Everything was so wrong. He had no one to share his success with. His old friends were not there anymore, and people he didn’t care about were crowding around him always hungry for his attention. The most beautiful girls were hitting on him, and there was no one to look him in the eyes, smile and wink. No one to talk the night away, share the last drop of booze, last puff and the first rays of sun in the morning. He was alone.