Hello Blogosphere

Possible blog names:
- The Missy Hendrix Experience
- Blackbird Fly
- Guns N' Posies

Flashback to April of this year: Coachella 2012. I’m in the middle of a throbbing crowd. Literally, throbbing. With the intention of seeing Calvin Harris up-close-and-personal, I have risked any and all personal boundaries to have my nose shoved in a stranger’s sweaty back while the DJ plays “Feels So Close” only a few feet away. The friends I came with to this concert have recklessly abandoned me to push themselves a few inches closer. Those traitors. So I have been forced to take refuge in the protection of a nearby couple. The disgruntled look on their faces only portrays a sliver of the pain and distaste I feel as my hair is pulled by some overly aggressive middle-schoolers clamoring for the front. The moment left something to be desired. I realized then that although I loved the Coachella music, I was much more of a Stagecoach personality.

Perhaps my deleterious spiral into the country realm began when I moved to the lovely city of Bakersfield, California; perhaps it began before. Regardless, I have been rocking country boots to the honky-tonk Crystal Palace since the ripe age of 17. I can’t imagine ever losing my love for rednecks or line dancing. At country concerts, I typically find myself leisurely embracing the company of some new tattooed comrades with an affinity for cheap beer. At the Coachella Musical Festival, on the other hand, I battled for my life. Furthermore, I found myself missing the sweet, simple lyrics of my country songs that been replaced by booming techno beats. The line had been drawn and I knew which side my high-waisted Levi shorts were headed to.

Beyond a love of country, I listen to everything from Rihanna hits on the radio to lesser-known indie bands like the Head and the Heart. I jam out to the oldies of Marvin Gaye and participate in screaming contests with Coheed and Cambria while I’m stuck in traffic. My passion for meaningful lyrics and harmonious beats has lead me appreciate almost all musical categories. Because of my broad tastes, I often like to think of myself as a musical-Renaissance Man, if you will.

The other day, however, when a friend asked me how I felt about classic rock, I was embarrassed to find myself asking exactly what he meant. This was a territory I had yet to explore, and seeing as I was newly single (in other words, full of free time) I decided that discovering rock music was an adventure worthy of embarking upon. It would be deliciously simple, gratifying and a hell of a lot cheaper than buying an Annual Pass to Disneyland.

To say that my new desire to discover my inner rock goddess was purely driven by copious amounts of time and an empty wallet, however, would be a cheap simplification of the real reason I’d like to take a trip to into the Rock n’ Roll past. As I travel the rickety path towards adulthood, I find myself feeling less and less confident about my passions and goals. “That’s a typical 20 year-old dilemma,” a wise reader might say. But I would counter that with the fact that my dilemma has been magnified by my relationship of two years, during which I formed my identity as part of a unit, but not as an individual. Upon realizing that so much of what I thought of myself was based on my relationship with a boy, I took what might be seen by some as an extreme measure, and broke up with him. If there was any time to get know myself, it was college.

I have decided to embark on a mission of self-discovery. I want to know what makes me, Missy Hendrix (name open to suggestions), tick. Listening to rock music, the tunes and ballads that helped shape generations, created social change and brought about a new era of music and culture, would surely be a worthwhile guide on my own journey. I want to hear lyrics that teach me, not only about myself, but the generations of the past who struggled to find themselves much like I am now. No more techno beats for me, thank you. Also, who needs a man when you have The Beatles and The Rolling Stones?! I feel overwhelmed by these attractive, talented men already.

As Walt Whitman says in Leaves of Grass: “All music is what awakens from you when you are reminded by the instruments. It is not the violins and cornets. It is not the oboe nor the beating drums… It is nearer and farther than they.” I think what Whitman meant was that music awakens something within us, and I can only hope that a little Rock n’ Roll will assist me in my own awakening.