"Your husband’s a guitarist, right? Does he want to play in the Dad Band for the Spring Faire?" The question, innocently posed by a fellow preschool parent to my wife, landed with the হালকা of a dropped cymbal in our otherwise harmonious home. We chuckled, a shared moment of amusement at the suburban dad-rock stereotype. But the laughter faltered when I saw her expression. Hurt, not humor, flickered in her eyes. "You wouldn’t even do that for your own kids," she stated, the quiet accusation hanging in the air. "Would you?"
Her words struck a chord, resonating with a silent vow I’d made long before parenthood: I wouldn’t become that dad. The dad who thrusts band tees onto toddlers, curates kiddie rock playlists, and enrolls their offspring in premature guitar lessons. Yet, as my wife’s pointed question lingered, I had to confront a possibility: had I overcorrected? Had my aversion to the cliché “rock dad” archetype led me to completely compartmentalize a significant part of my identity – my life in music – from my children? The truth was, I had never spoken to them about my musical past. Not once.
My journey in music wasn’t a stadium-filling saga, but it was deeply meaningful to me. I poured my creative energy into two bands that existed firmly outside the mainstream spotlight. The first, Bullet LaVolta, was a formative experience. But it was in Chavez, my second band, that I truly found my musical voice. Formed in the vibrant New York City music scene of 1992, Chavez was a collaboration with Matt Sweeney, the singer and guitarist, later joined by James Lo on drums and Scott Marshall on bass. We were fiercely independent, driven by a shared vision, and incredibly proud of the two albums we released on Matador Records. These weren’t just records to us; they were the embodiment of our creative spirit, meticulously crafted expressions of our musical ideals.
Chavez was, in many ways, my perfect creative outlet. We were united by strong, often stubborn, ideas about the music we wanted to create, and we pursued those ideas with unwavering dedication. We executed our vision precisely as we intended. However, as life often dictates, the band eventually drifted apart. Career paths diverged. I transitioned into screenwriting, embraced marriage, and became a father. Scott followed the parenting path. James returned to his passion for composing modern dance scores. Matt continued his prolific musical journey, collaborating with a diverse range of artists. Life, in its multifaceted nature, had gently, but firmly, pulled Chavez in different directions. But the question remained: where did this past fit into my present role as a dad, and was I doing my children, and myself, a disservice by keeping it a secret?
