The Genesis

The trip begins.

From a weekly, Sunday morning jam with Patrick Dwyer we called Metal Church (nod to the 80's metal band), the Drone concept album idea grew into what it is today. A story told with sounds like those that exploded through our speakers over the decades. Retro tones with a heavy edge.

Drone Man has been germinating for more than thirty years. Living with my grandparents in my early college years, I rode the commuter rail a few days per week to attend classes at Columbia College, Chicago. On those days, I began to notice a man, well into retirement age, who wore a beige trench coat. Medium coffee in a styrofoam cup, and a vanilla long john. Chicago Sun-Times tucked away under his arm as he sat in the station awaiting the train's arrival.

After a few weeks I began to follow his lead. Expressionless, he seemed to know, almost instinctively, when to walk to the platform. Most uncanny, he also knew exactly where the train doors would open into the same car he's likely boarded for decades. He sat in the same, single seat in the upper row. Every. Single. Day. Haunting me for years after.

Though immersed in Columbia's creative environment studying marketing communications with a focus on advertising creative arts, I grew anxious. I began noticing how no one on the train spoke to one another. Smiles were rare. Smartphones weren't yet invented so people passed the time reading or staring blankly out the window. Few if any of the passengers outwardly seemed inspired or remotely excited to arrive at the end of the line in Chicago's Loop. Working in the trades as a handyman to help pay for college, I questioned why I was doing college. To wake up twenty years later, and feel like them?

Fast forward four years as I again rode the train into the city for my internship at a public relations agency - suit, tie, leather-soled shoes and all. Freshly cut hair. I was at a rail crossing headed to the commuter parking lot on a chilly Chicago Monday morning. I watched two tradesmen on a scaffolding in full Carhart insulated jumpsuits. The pair was taking a break from installing a new sign over a storefront, dangling their feet over the edge as they laughed and enjoyed their Dunkin' Donuts coffee. I imagined them talking through the latest Bears loss, strategizing how they would run the team. They seemed not only content with their lot, but outwardly joyful. Connecting as people. I compared that with the windowless, dumpy, soulless office full of human drones toward which I was headed. Three months into my career, I could see myself turning. My optimistic outlook fading.

Through a series of fortunate events the Universe served up, I landed in a place that felt good. Not at entirely stuffy or stifling, but a corporate job nonetheless. As I rode that metaphorical ride on life's rails, my soul never let me lose sight of the Drone Man I refused to become.

Life made it a challenging balance. Drone Man's story is an analog. A concept set to music written to be relatable and reflection-inspiring. Play loud and hold on.