So I’m finally doing what I have been wanting to do for so long—writing about music for a music magazine, for the love of music.

But I never really thought that something that you love doing takes this much hard work. I mean, you think that it would be second nature. But you have to sink yourself in. You gotta listen to the songs a billion times till the riffs and strings buzz in your ears. You gotta read the lyrics and get into the mind of the musician—someone who has been into this business almost all his life (read: The Boss, Bruce Springsteen), eons before you even knew what ‘music’ meant to you. Quite simply, you need to be lost in someone else’s hardw ork, finesse and perfection, in order to find yours.

At the end of the day, it finally dawned that for me, THIS is where effort should count, with no strings attached. Nevermind the forgotten credits. Nevermind spending hours and days, trying to figure out how best to describe something that seems so sculpted to perfection in composition, production, sound, vocals, lyrics (read: Bruce’s new album Working On A Dream). Listening to the music that was made to inspire you is in itself, rewarding. Apart from that (and my boy’s charming self), I realise that things look good.

Do give Working On A Dream a listen. It's Bruce like you've never heard him before. He's in love and not afraid to tell the world about it. And I think the world could use some honesty and true love like this...

In other news, I haven’t seen a glassful of beer in almost two months. And I think, I have stopped chronically whining for good. Yay.