Huffing nitrous was my thing. Don’t get me wrong, I liked popping pills and smoking weed as much as the next addict, but inflating my lungs with freezing cold laughing gas really hit the spot for me. I huffed in my room, I huffed on the freeway, I huffed at the drive-thru – I’d huff and puff and blow your house down. My lifestyle was not sustainable, and I found myself in rehab again. How could nitrous oxide take a guy like me; an intelligent, driven, handsome devil destined for greatness, and devolve him into the s-s-stuttering, sheet-white, eye-contact avoidant mouse that checked into rehab in 2017? I’ll give you a hint: contrary to popular belief, depriving your brain of oxygen for hours upon days upon months at a time doesn’t increase your odds of winning Jeopardy. I really tried hard not to expose my habit to anyone, but sometimes it was necessary. For example, when my friends discovered me outside in my car sucking up balloons after I disappeared for hours at a time during a movie, party, dinner etc. Exposure to my addiction usually prompted the worried onlooker(s) to tell me, in case I wasn’t aware, that I was huffing millions of innocent brain cells to death – I was the axis of evil in the WWII of my brain. Of course, I knew that. Nobody could initiate a genocide and not know exactly who or what they were destroying (brain cells or otherwise). In fact, my friends notified of my cellular abuse so often, that I came up with something to diffuse their worry, something to lighten up the mood: “I’m too smart, it’s only fair to even the playing field out a little so others have a chance.” I bragged that I was popping my brain so others could have a chance. A chance of what? Jesus Christ I was sick.
I’m celebrating a year clean today (3/18/18) because I’m surrounded by people who love me. My girlfriend helps me plan my schedule weeks ahead of time, my Mom keeps me accountable, and my sister has my back no matter what (they all help me WAY more than that, I’d need fifty more pages of words to describe even a quarter of how much they do to keep me functional and healthy). I get to work as a music producer, record label, and entrepreneur every day – my artists depend on me, and I depend on the love of my family and girlfriend. The once drug den studio is now my sober safe haven. I thought the new zero-tolerance drug and alcohol policy would dramatically decrease the number of studio renters- it did. It deterred artists who used to rent out the studio to get fucked up and waste time. Now, I have a smaller group of clients – but they rent my space consistently, and don’t vomit on my monitors. My business has matured more throughout this past year than it has throughout the prior three years combined. And I am happy.
I dedicate this year of sobriety to my love, Frankie, my Mom, Barbara, my sister, Alex, my dad Steven, my Mom’s partner, Louise and my dog, Leo.
If you are a musician in LA and don’t want to risk your sobriety recording in an unsafe environment, you can reach me via my website: thelodgerecords.com