The Orion Star

A Better Interview

**TRIGGER WARNING** Talking about depression and addiction.

Get in the differential lane

It's the only way you'll ever survive

You think I'm joking kid? Look again

Just try and keep up with my stride

--From the song Differential Lane

Lyrics By Orion Bauwens

"You okay?"

I nod to Gloria and grin. She gives me a huge smile back and then walks off to the side of the room. I'm giving an interview. It's been a year since I had OD'd.

After my hospital stint I went back to rehab, only for ninety days this time. I'm really fucking happy to say I've actually been sober this entire time. For the first time in my life I feel like I have my shit together. It's scary. But it's also really invigorating.

We went back on tour recently. The entire thing sold out. Every single fucking date. I guess people missed me. Well, us. Who would've thought, right?

We're playing a gig tonight, and we had one yesterday. Today is filled with back-to-back interviews during the day. Which is fine--I don't mind. But this specific interview...

This one is really important. This one, I've been working on behind the scenes for months. This is the only one I'm nervous about.

Why? Because I've teamed up with several different streaming services and am going to do a live interview. I've been working with the interviewer for a long while. I went to them last year and gave them my pitch, telling them what I had in mind.

His name is Scott Davis. He's an actor I met during my second stint in rehab. He's also an advocate for addicts; he uses his celebrity status to bring awareness to people.

I always thought celebrities like that were just pretentious fucks. Like, "Oh hey, give me more attention besides what I'm already famous for!" I assumed they thought the world revolved around them.

There was a brief time this past year where I considered doing a TED Talk instead of this interview. But like I said, not only would I have felt pretentious, but I also don't like how it's inconceivable for the average person to attend because tickets are so damn expensive.

Thus here I am, sitting in a directors chair as someone fusses over my makeup last-minute. I'm sitting in a suit--a suit!--black with a black shirt and red tie. My hair is kinda spiky--I took the time to put gel in it.

I feel like a douche, not gonna lie, but Scott told me to dress like this. Yeah, that's right--Scott told me. It's not like that though. I mean it is, but it isn't.

Scott's a really nice guy. He doesn't mean to be bossy. If anyone else told me to put a suit and tie on--not ask, but told me--I'd say 'fuck you' and probably punch them in the face.

But Scott? He has this domineering personality where you just want to listen. When he says, "Oh no, chap, you mustn't dress like you normally do, no no no. That will not do. You won't be taken seriously! You must wear a suit, you simply must," with his British accent, talking at you like he's eighty but he's actually younger than I am, well...You show up in a fucking suit and tie. It's just how Scott is.

Scott and I are unlikely friends. He's very straight-laced (minus the drug and drinking problem). All the ladies flock to his films because he's so good looking. He's the type of guy that owns a yacht and eats caviar.

Yet he's quickly become one of my best friends. He's also a damn good actor, so he gets my respect for that alone. I know he respects me for my music; he doesn't get it, Mr. I Like Classical Only, but we have a mutual artistic understanding. I'm very lucky to have him in my life, that's no lie.