The influence of Music: How they shaped me.

When you were listening to a song, have you ever felt like it really hit you? It was as if it had reached into your soul, given you a high five, and said, "Hey, this is you," rather than simply slapping you. Yeah. That was a small part of my musical journey's beginning.

Therefore, storytime.

I joined a marching band by accident when I was 12 years old. Don't ask how; just know that it involved a free chocolates as a bribe, a misunderstanding about "casual rehearsal," and me holding a trumpet I didn't know how to play.

I failed miserably. Like, really bad. But there was a turning point. Music itself, not the trumpet, which I gave up after a month. That was the beginning.

The Origins of the Old Souls

At home in Nepal, my parents were those “vinyl is better” type of people. As a result, Dinesh, Rekha, and Jaya were always heard playing music in our living room. Jaya was my favorite. Her powerful, unadulterated voice made you sit up straighter. She spoke the truth and sang as well. Listening to her taught me early on that music didn’t have to be pretty to be real. It just had to be honest.

I picked up groove from Dinesh. Rhythm. How to speak without moving people. What about Rekha? I learned about emotions from them. Melody. Harmonies that occasionally leave you weeping and envelope you in layers of emotion.

The Chaos: Teenage Years and Angry Guitars

Then came high school. AKA the "angsty" phase.

I came across punk. Classic bands include Kajal, Himesh, and Dipak. Additionally, that opened a brand-new set of emotional tools. Suddenly, I wasn’t just interested in groove and soul. I wanted rage. Rebellion. That unfiltered “scream into your pillow at 2am” energy. I started writing lyrics that made no sense but felt like everything.

Back then, I did have a band—Midnight Lint (don’t laugh). We were a hot mess, rehearsing in my friend’s garage next to a busted lawnmower and a box of expired Twinkies. But I was a mess with us. That’s when I started realizing that I wasn’t just mimicking sounds—I was building my own weird Frankenstein of a style.

Now though, I’m solo. No band. Just me, my voice, and my story.

Curveball: A Stranger on a Train

Okay, here’s the weird part. Once, during a particularly rough patch (post-band-breakup, college rejections, existential dread—you know the vibes), I took a train out of town just to clear my head. I brought my beat-up acoustic guitar and sat in the back of the car strumming nothing in particular.

This older guy sat across from me. wore a Hawaiian shirt despite the cold weather outside. After giving him some time to listen, he said, "You play like someone who is afraid to tell the truth." I was like, “Uh… thanks?”

He just talked on and on. He told me he used to tour with jazz bands in the '70s, said he learned that people don’t remember what you play—they remember how you made 'em feel. He advised me to focus on moments rather than perfection. Then he got off two stops later and I never saw him again.

He is still known as the Jazz Wizard to me. And yeah, he kinda changed my life.

Where I am Now

Right now, I’m just a Nepali singer with a dream and a mic. I’m not famous—not yet—but I’ve got songs in my soul and stories to tell. At the moment, my music is a bizarre stew. My chord progressions are chaotic and jazzy, my lyrics are punk, and my melodies are soulful. I refer to it as "bedroom soul with a bite," but in all honesty, it fluctuates frequently. That works for me. I don’t want to be a genre. I want to feel everything.

And all those influences—Jaya’s honesty, Dinesh’s groove, Kajal’s rawness, and the Jazz Wizard’s cryptic wisdom—they’re all in there. Like ghosts in the studio, nodding along as I figure it out, track by track.

Now I’m starting my journey on Hive, sharing my voice with whoever’s willing to listen. Building something real, one post, one note, one moment at a time.

That is, in fact, me. My style’s a patchwork of everything I’ve ever loved, everything that’s broken me, and everything I still don’t understand. And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Note: The image used in this blog is AI-generated and ChatGpt has been used for grammatical and formatting.

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