Scene Roots and Soundtrack Souls

Right now, I’m sitting with Drop Dead Gorgeous playing in the background—thinking about how bands like this built the foundation of who I am. The chaos, the screaming honesty, the gritty lyrics that understood everything I couldn’t say out loud back then. That energy is part of me. It always will be.

And then my mind drifted to At the Throne of Judgment—another band that meant so much to me. I never got to see them live. Never got to shake their hands, or thank them in person for the impact they made on me. That stings more than I expected. Not because I missed a show—but because I missed a moment. The kind you don’t realize will matter until the door’s already closed.

But this blog isn’t just about what I missed. It’s about what I was lucky enough to experience.

Back in 2007, I met the band that would become the framework for everything I’d come to understand about connection, community, and growth through music: The Devil Wears Prada.

They weren’t just heavy. They were holy. Not in a religious way, but in a “this music is sanctuary” kind of way. At that time, with strict parents and limited freedom, it meant everything to have something that felt both rebellious and acceptable. TDWP bridged that gap. They let kids like me scream our lungs out in secret and still come home without guilt.

And then there was Daniel.

He didn’t just shred on stage—he showed up off stage too. I got lucky. We met. We exchanged numbers. And from time to time, we’d text. Just little things. But enough to feel like I was seen. Like I mattered. That kind of kindness stays with you.

When Daniel passed, it hit different. Not just because he was part of a band I loved—but because he was from here. A local. A person with heart. It felt like losing a friend and a piece of home at the same time.

It’s wild, how music we connected with as teens never really leaves us. Some of it we outgrow, but most of it? It becomes part of our DNA. It’s in the way we talk, the way we write, the way we fight through the days that try to swallow us.

These bands weren’t just artists to me. They were lifelines. They were scribbled lyrics in notebooks, hand-drawn logos on backpacks, and car rides with the volume maxed and the windows down because screaming along was the only way to breathe.

And even now, so many years later—I still feel it. The ache. The gratitude. The beat of a bass drum and a memory in sync.

So to the bands I never got to meet—Drop Dead Gorgeous, At the Throne of Judgment—thank you.
And to the ones I did—especially TDWP and Daniel—thank you even more.

You didn’t just create music.
You created connection.
And that… that changes people forever.