I talked to my cousin Bryan for a few hours on the phone last night. We talked about compression ratios, computers, and solved all the mysteries of the Bible. We ended the conversation when I realized that I had to get up in about four and a half hours.

I had emailed him earlier that evening to ask about this piano player we used to know and asked if he thought the guy might work for the new band. He said he thought he should call instead of reply by email so I didn’t mistake his emailing tone as too harsh when he spoke less than highly of the guy’s playing.

When Lou and I decided to put together a band I thought that we would probably come across a whole slew of keyboard players right off the bat since every Christian I kid I grew up with was forced to take piano lessons. I envisioned me and Lou sitting at a table in front of a line of keyboard players (wearing those keyboards you wear like a guitar) waiting to show us how awesome they sound playing Michael W. Smith’s “Friends”.  But apparently God has waived the requirement of owning a DX7 to inherit eternal life because it seems that there are no keyboard players to be found.

Adding a keyboard player to a rock band is a pretty tricky thing. Adding the wrong guy can turn Jellyfish into Night Ranger in a big old hurry. But finding the right guy can turn AC/DC into the Black Crowes. See how that works?

I was one of those kids who took piano lessons for years. I hated them. I was eventually able to convince my folks to allow me to take sax lessons instead. But now I have a keyboard sitting right here on my desk that I play all the time and a sax that’s worth more than both of my cars put together sitting untouched over in the dark corner of my basement. Go figure.