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Artist
Music. Music is life applied. It seems to me that it all comes back to the pipe organ on a merry-go-round. Let me let you in on a little secret. It’s the music that makes it go round. We all have our talents. And we all have our gifts. Jered too. He writes the score for life. Make no mistake. He’s a mongrel. He’s a mutt. He howls at the moon. But when he does it, you have to listen. It is something in the shaky troubadour voice. It is something in the hidden thud of that wild strum, beating on the guitar to exact some revenge. I’m sure of it. Jered writes the world. Listen. His words are brilliant. And I am remiss to say so. Honestly? I love this guy way too much for my own good and praising him this highly is only going to fill his head with more nonsense. I don’t wish to do that. It might take up space that could have been used for that next melody line. That next rhyming couplet. And I refuse to get in the way of that. His music is perfect. He takes all those notes on the neck of that guitar, which is more a lover than Roxanne, and arranges them to speak directly to the words he puts over it. He makes language out of vibrating strings. Maybe he’s an alchemist. Hmm.. Jered makes beautiful. But that's not what this is about. Stay with me. I am going somewhere with this. Jered is also an explosion of life. We all have that crazy eyed relative who has stories about exactly how big the world is. He shows you pictures and tells stories that are true but sound so very much like l