Let me start from the beginning. I was in a metal band in the late nineties. I’m not going to tell you our band’s name, but we were big. Huge even. There were four of us…let’s say our names were Mike, Tyler, Rocco, and myself, Miles. Mike was on drums, Rocco played bass, and Tyler was our lead guitarist. I sang. Well…I sang when I wasn’t screaming my lungs out. We started playing in Mike’s garage when we were all in high school. We got good. We got really good. It seemed like everything fueled our passion and pushed us to write better and better songs. We started playing in bars, small time gigs, whatever we could get our hands on. People were taking notice.
And people loved us. Why wouldn’t they? We were maniacs. We thrashed around on stage, brought props to break, thrived off crowd interaction…it was awesome. It was turning into a full time lifestyle the better we got. Soon we had to start declining smaller offers because the big ones began to roll in.
We didn’t bother with college, our musical talents pumping plenty of income into our humble lives. When we all turned eighteen we moved out of our parent’s houses and got an apartment together. We lived like that for two years, rocking out, jamming, bouncing ideas off each other.