Music gives us life, and we give life back to music.
In a world very much like ours, there exist people who can wield the sound of music in ways both fantastical and terrifying. Since the dawn of the Classical period, these people have called them...
Is it the clang of a drum? Or the strum of a guitar?
Is it the din of a tambourine? Or the punch of a bass?
Perhaps it's a voice; lonely in the dark, high above the clouds, or down among the masses.
It cries, and it laughs, it roars, and it mourns, and it celebrates.
But most importantly, it sings.
To the normal and unchanged human being, music is a passion at best and a distraction at worst.
But to others, it holds something more. Something stronger and more tangible than anyone could ever imagine.
Infintely mystifying, and yet in the hands of the few and the chosen, infinitely powerful.
Michael Jason Kay is one of those people. He is a lover of music, simple as he may be.
But truthfully, he is perhaps much more than that.
For the symphony of the universe calls to him, and soon enough, he'll find himself part of the true audio generation: those whose music is the most pure extension of their very souls.
This is his story.
His white knuckle ride.
In all its classic, long playing glory.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
It was in all likelihood very frustrating to be the neighbor of Colleen Kay.
As a relatively hard-working woman in her twenties, Colleen came and went from her Washington Heights apartment when work demanded her to do so.
She waved at the neighbors when they waved first, usually acknowledged the postman, and put long and stressful hours at her nursing job.
So one could only assume that in the hours she wasn't home, there should be nothing but peace and quiet.
If not for her younger brother, of course.
It was just another typical afternoon for Michael Jason Kay, the spotlights in his room practically high-beams, and his music so loud that it seemed to warp the walls of his room with each loud bass strum.
Taller than most boys his age, Michael Kay flowed like water, red sneakers burning up the dance floor with each step. As the pumping disco beat pulsed around him, he bounced back and forth to it in near perfect sync.
Though his room was small, it was big enough to fit the configuration of colored spot lights he had bought to better emulate the heart of a disco dance floor. The room lit up with a turquoise glint, reflecting off his tan skin as his large orb of hair bobbed and his record player continued to play its soulful melody in the corner.
