My last official day at the Houston Press is tomorrow, so these past two weeks I have been sifting through my body of work here at Rocks Off, almost seven years of words. I've been gleefully overdosing on nostalgia here at my desk, and I have (almost) no regrets. I'll have some more words on my departure on Friday, including a rundown of all the concerts I covered.
While I was compiling this blog of interviews I have undertaken for the Press, I got sad, because I started thinking about the ones that got away, the ones that I couldn't do because of time constraints or scheduling conflicts: Dave Grohl, Merle Haggard, Ozzy Osbourne, Dickie Peterson, Slash, Marilyn Manson, Joe Walsh, Willie Nelson, Jim James, Ronnie James Dio... the list is long and annoying.
Then there are the interviews that went horribly. Sometimes both parties, myself and the subject, were rushed, agitated, or otherwise mentally checked out. Sometimes the artist was really not into being interrogated while in a bumpy tour bus or smelly van, and it came out in the copy.