My dad is a man of very few interests.
He’s a tall lanky midwesterner from Champaign, Illinois. He likes to run long distances, watch college sports, and have a gin martini before dinner.
When it comes to music he’s pretty neutrally supportive of whatever. He has no strong opinions for the most part. The only exception to this rule is that he fucking loves Cheap Trick.
He graduated high school in 1976, the year before their self-titled album was released, and was living only 3 hours away from where they were formed which, in midwestern distances, is pretty close.
Now, I’m not saying he’s a super-fan by any means. He can probably name 5 songs. But in terms of my dad that means he’s a super-fan. Let’s just say his Cheap Trick t-shirt is the only one he likes enough to add into the rotation of otherwise orange University of Illinois t-shirts.
All this is to say, I’m in Champaign right now. Driving up and down the same flat, wide, streets my dad grew up driving up and down, listening to Cheap Trick. Because while I am not a fan of running long distances, watching college sports, or having gin martinis, I fucking love Cheap Trick.
Thanks for listening,
Will