People ask me all the time what it's like to play in a band with my brother...
No they don't. No one has ever asked me that, but I'll go ahead and answer anyways:
It's totally average.
No it isn't. I share the stage with the only other person on this earth who has been repeatedly spanked by my loving father.
Imagine with me that you were born in a little yellow house in Northern California. Imagine a train trestle towering above the house. Twice a day, loads of regional lumber screech over this trestle, some 200 feet in the air, and twice each night a wailing horn announces the train's sleeplessness. Imagine that each time the train interrupts the still night, cattle in the surrounding fields raise their drooping heads to snort, horses shuffle and start, and two brothers shift and murmur in their bunk bed. Imagine that you're on the top bunk and you wake to the mechanical vibrations reverberating on the tracks above. The muffled cacophony of sound pushing into the bedroom is oddly calming. As the chaos overhead rushes deeper and further into the night, finally growing dim and then silent, you know that all is well on the top bunk in the still room in the little yellow house in Northern California. All is well because as the tracks stop ringing and the sound waves settle, your brother is there in the bottom bunk also awake for a moment or two before slipping back into sleep.
Now imagine that you're surrounded by those same sound waves 15 years later, still with your brother, except now you're creating the chaos with him.
That's a little bit what it's like to play in a band with my brother.
--the little brother