In One of the Stars You Have Been Singing
The mission to Mars Junction
By Tyler Winklevoss Sunday, June 19, 2022
I started a band called Mars Junction with Cameron during the pandemic. It has been one of the most exhilarating, terrifying, vulnerable, rewarding, and fun experiences of my life.
I never really thought I would share the story of this journey. It just never occurred to me, and if it had, it would have felt presumptuous and self-important. No thank you.
This journey has been a personal one and even though forming a band and performing in public is indeed a public act, the reasons behind this band, its origin story, and my ‘why’ have always been private and personal to me.
And I was totally cool with that. I mean, who really cares, do we really need a Behind The Music here? Probably not. Let’s just play some music and have some fun. Right?
In hindsight this may have been a little naive. After all, I am a public person and starting a band isn’t exactly the first thing people expect from me. It’s ok, I didn’t expect this from me either.
And to be fair, we live in a world that conditions us to think in boxes. Pick your box. Identify the boxes of others. And understand the world as a constellation of boxes.
Like a children’s book where characters are summed up by the common noun of their profession (e.g., fireman, lawyer, policeman, doctor, businesswoman, etc.), adult life in the real world isn’t much different. It’s still a story told through the lens of boxes.
Boxes is probably a misnomer. Cages really. And with much effort, you can escape from one cage into another.
Moving between cages can spark a range of reactions and emotions in others. Anything from curiosity to discomfort. It can even piss a few people off. Anyone who has moved between cages understands what I’m saying.
After all, it deeply challenges how we have been taught to make sense of the world around us.
The resistance sounds and feels something like this:
What are you doing here? You have no business here. Stay in your lane. Who do you think you are? Of course you can be whatever you want to be, as long as it conforms to my expectations of you.
So like I said earlier, in hindsight, it was probably naive to think that I could peacefully jump into a new cage, especially a public one, and expect that the world would just understand and accept it, no questions asked.
And while I never planned to publicly talk about the backstory (again, who cares?), the Internet has tipped my hand. So here we go…
When the world ground to a halt during the global lock-downs, I, like many others, tried to figure out what to do with all this new found time.
Every commitment in my life outside of my startup, which fortunately was able to continue to operate remotely, completely vanished. Overnight, all the noise was gone. All the mediocre meetings and time commitments evaporated. Calendar/inbox zero. Yes.
I decided to fill this new empty space with two projects. The first was a family photo project. The second was a music project.
My mom took a legendary amount of photos and videos of our family and friends over the years. She captured many life moments, both big and small, through pictures that grew to occupy more than 50 medium-sized moving boxes. That’s a lot of pictures!
And while my mom was a prolific taker of photos, she wasn’t as prolific at organizing and archiving them. No offense mom! I still love you 😂😘
So, I started tearing through these boxes with Cameron to bring order to the chaos. After 12 weeks and countless hours later, we had successfully organized every photo and negative chronologically into sleeves that were labeled and recorded in a spreadsheet of 1,000+ rows.
This project was fascinating and profound. It allowed me to re-experience my life from birth to college, through the eyes of my 39-year-old adult self.
It gave me a new perspective on my life and my family that is hard to gain when you’re living through it. You can’t see the color of the water when you’re swimming in it. You have to get up and out of the pool to see the full picture.
The range of feelings and emotions was vast, sweeping, and deep. I tried my best to feel into and sit with all of them. Joy, laughter, gratitude, sadness, fear, longing. Grief. Lots of grief.
I learned a lot, grew a lot, and healed a lot. But some pain will never go away. And every family photo is a reminder of that.
Starting in 2002, my big sister Amanda stops appearing in family photos.
This would come as a surprise to any observer because the brightest light of the Winklevoss family was never myself or Cameron. It was always our older sister, Amanda Gesine Winklevoss.
A star both on and off the field, Amanda was a varsity athlete, the lead in the school plays and musicals, and a straight-A student. She stole any show. A veritable rock star.
Cameron and I were more like the runts of the litter. As shy, late-bloomers, we were more than happy to play our supporting roles, stand back in the chorus line, and watch in awe as our big sister took center stage.
Her charisma lit up any room. It was infectious. You could not miss her beauty both inside and out. Everyone of my friends growing up had a crush on her. I’m pretty sure the whole town did.
There are people on this earth who have a certain grace, an energy, and make you feel a certain way that cannot be captured by words. She was one of them.
Her star was very bright. But sometimes our brightest stars are not meant to burn as long as we all would like.
In 2000, Amanda began suffering from severe, debilitating depression. This was not the seasonal or transient kind. It was the clinical kind that hits like a freight train. The kind that totally alters and changes you into an unrecognizable shell of your former self.
Like many struggling with a pain that thankfully most of us will never know, she sought relief through chemicals to help ease her pain. An eating disorder developed. Some cutting too.
Two years later, on the evening of June 14, 2002, her struggle came to an end. For good. She collapsed on a street corner in New York City and would never get up again. She was 23 years old.
Initially, the New York Post, the city’s tabloid paper, reported that she was electrocuted. But deep down, I felt that probably wasn’t what happened. Eventually, the autopsy and toxicology reports came back and confirmed what all of us who were close to her already knew inside. Amanda died of cardiac arrest caused by a drug overdose. Her beautiful heart had given out under the weight of it all.
The New York Post continued to run stories with each update. They called my parents at their home. They drove out to their house and knocked on their door. They took pictures from the sidewalk. I was told not to answer my cell phone from unknown callers because they would try to reach out to me too. I had just finished my Sophomore year in college.
This was my first real brush with the media. Our family was a private, low key family. We were not public people. This all happened two years before Facebook launched and eight years before the movie The Social Network was released.
At 20 years old, I learned a hard and cold lesson. The media can create a narrative, a mythology, out of a few pixels that completely overpowers the full picture. With the stroke of the pen, my sister’s private struggle was turned into a public spectacle. Because she collapsed on a street corner and not in her bedroom, she became content.
Her legacy online will always be about the moment she died, not the life she lived or the person she was. This is the most bitter part of an already bitter pill to swallow.
But back to the music. As I mentioned, my second project during the pandemic was to form a band.
Music has always been a part of my life, but not quite in this way. Both Cameron and I played classical piano for 12 years, from the age of six to the age of 18. It was the only thing our parents ever forced us to do. Our dad regretted never learning to play piano as a kid and was determined not to let that happen to us. An interesting way to be introduced to an instrument, but I suppose a necessary one.
He ended up teaching himself Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata note-by-note as an adult (the first two movements that is, the third was a bit too much), but I digress.
Here is a video of Cameron and I playing two duets at a recital. I remember loving these pieces, but I can’t remember their names. If you do, let me know. I also forgot that we switch places in between pieces. Baller.
And here’s a picture of Cameron and I playing a duet at a hotel bar on New Year’s Eve in 1991. Nice matching plaid shirts and bowl cuts? Yikes 😂
Did I mention I was a shy and awkward late-bloomer? I wasn’t kidding.
Here’s a video of me playing Frédéric Chopin’s Étude Opus 10, №12 or “Revolutionary Etude” at a recital in high school. 🤘
And here’s a video of me playing Scott Joplin’s Gladiolus Rag.
High school was a difficult but defining time for me. I entered a new school and didn’t fit in. I was not socially mature enough to know how to make new friends in new settings. It was the first time in my life I felt completely lost. Like a total loser.
My first report card Freshman year contained more Cs and Ds than As and Bs. But then something incredible happened. My sister pulled me aside one day and said, “this is not you.” I thought about it and decided she was right.
From that moment on, I never looked back. I became an achievement machine. I studied so hard and took so many Latin courses that by senior year they had to create a new one for me — a seminar on Medieval Church Latin.
I was many things in high school, but traditionally “cool” was not one of them. When my head wasn’t in books, I was busy rowing boats and trying to make them go fast. I never had a girlfriend and matriculated to college with all the insecurities of a card-carrying virgin. I may have been accepted to Harvard, but I was far from being accepted by myself.
In college I continued my achievement momentum, turbo-charged in hindsight by a total lack of self-esteem. But I also started to grow and mature out socially. Thank goodness lol.
Over the next 20 years I tried to start a social network (it got complicated quick), rowed in the Beijing Olympics, invested in bitcoin, and co-founded a crypto exchange. I advanced a lot professionally, but very little time was left over for me personally.
The pandemic provided that silver lining of an opportunity for the first time in 20 years to create some personal space outside of work and linear accomplishment.
And Mars Junction is how I’ve been filling it. Originally, I played keys for the band. It seemed like a logical starting point and ending point. But over time I felt like I should challenge myself more. Our time is short on this earth.
Eventually, a thought occurred to me that was equal parts exciting and terrifying. Actually, much more terrifying. What if I tried to sing? Holy shit.
I was never a theater kid growing up. I never sang unless forced to do so in music class at school. This was never my world. It was my sister’s thing. That was her role.
Here’s a picture of her in the musical Fiddler on the Roof.
And here’s her in the musical Over There.
And again in the musical Over There.
Ever so slowly and gently, I edged into singing and becoming the frontman of our band. I got a voice coach and started learning the technique of a vocalist. This was very different for me, but a side of me I was excited to explore. A whole new way of expressing myself. Scary, but thrilling.
Last July, we performed our first public show at the Knitting Factory in Brooklyn, New York. It was a major highlight of my life. One that I will marvel at on my deathbed and one that ranks right up there in my mind with any other thing I’ve ever done in my life.
It was so meaningful to me that I committed myself to doing it again, at least a few more times. So last Fall, we started working backwards and setting in motion plans to take Mars Junction on the road in the early Summer of 2022. A mini “tour” if you will.
We got hard to work expanding our set list from 10 songs to 25, which comes out to roughly 90 minutes of music. The new additions were also much more vocally ambitious. What can I say, I love a challenge. Guilty as charged.
Fast-forward to today and our Summer tour is already under way. Last Saturday, we finished our 3rd show in a row at Brooklyn Bowl in Brooklyn, New York. Each show has felt better than the last one. The life of a performer is a rollercoaster, but I feel like I’m learning and growing a ton each time I go out there.
Am I any good? I have no idea, but that’s not the point! Am I improving? I think so. Am I trying? Very much so. But the contract I made with myself was that this was going to be about having FUN, first and foremost.
This is not always so easy for me. I’ve been measuring myself my entire fucking life. It’s challenging to detrain and unlearn this muscle memory. The internal critic doesn’t just go away quietly into the night without a fight. Some days I am better at keeping it at bay than others.
On Sunday and Monday I was soaking in the first leg of our tour. Like a pink sunset or an amazing evening with your closest friends, these are the moments in life that warm your heart in a way that no professional success can.
Then on Tuesday, I started receiving texts on my phone. It was June 14, 2022, the 20th anniversary of my sister’s death. But they weren’t about that.
“You’re blowing up!”
This is almost always a bad thing. And sure enough, it wasn’t all that flattering. Turns out someone posted a video to twitter from our tune-up show in Asbury Park, New Jersey.
Admittedly, the Asbury show was a tough night for me. Our band has a big sound and the drums were up my ass. Even though I have in-ears, my mix was overpowered and I couldn’t hear where I was.
As a result, I missed a few pitches, went a little sharp here, a little flat there. Big fucking deal. Maybe next time I’ll get it.
This is how you learn. You go out there. You fall on your face. You figure out why. You pick yourself up and try again. It’s rough sometimes, but there is no way around it. The stage is the ultimate test, the greatest teacher.
I have no illusions about this. I expected some scar tissue from this tour. What I didn’t expect was for someone to come at me with such shitty intent. Maybe that was naive on my part.
After the show, I hung out at the bar for a few hours grabbing beers and meeting people. I would have been happy to meet and hang with the person who tweeted that video too. You could have teased me for sounding like shit and I could have asked you about what it’s like living in Asbury Park. Place seems dope.
We could have laughed. Maybe even become friends? That’s why I got into this. To meet people. Form community. Make new friends. Get out of my bubble. Stretch myself. Could have been epic.
But alas, that’s not quite how the story went. We didn’t become friends, but you did give me a gift. And even though the Internet kicked me in the teeth, the New York Post rushed to amplify it, and other media outlets piled on, I’m grateful. Sincerely.
Thank you for making me realize that I needed to tell my story in order to honor it. If for no one but for me. Thank you for making me reflect and dig deep to truly understand why the hell I’m doing this. Why the hell I am here. And helping me better fit all the puzzle pieces together.
Up until this moment, I didn’t fully appreciate or accept how much my sister Amanda has been a part of this journey. That I was stepping into her role.
I could have done anything with the time I’ve put into this band. I could have learned a new language. Tried standup comedy. Picked up woodworking. Trained for a marathon. But I didn’t. I chose this.
And as much as I tell myself this is about challenging myself in a new way, which it is, I am coming to terms with the fact that this is very much a way for me to feel closer to my big sister. And even if I can’t hold a candle to her on the stage, I can at least be with her. Up there. In her element. Having fun, together.
We engraved her tombstone with the following, as a reminder that she is still with us:
In one of the stars I shall be living
In one of the stars I shall be laughing
And so it will be as if all the stars
Were laughing when you look at
The sky at night
-The Little Prince, Antoine De Saint-Exupery
In one of the stars you have been singing. And now I know, it has been you this whole time, whispering in my ear. Saying, “Go on. It’s your turn. Go have some fun.”
When we started planning this tour, we had no idea if anyone would come to see us play. But some people are showing up and we’re having a pretty good time.
We’re even selling some merch, a portion of which we’re gonna donate to MusiCares, a charity that helps musicians recover from addiction.
I began my own journey in mental health almost four years ago. I didn’t appreciate how much the multi-generational mental health struggles in my family impacted me, but they sure did. I started sharing some of this in this tweet thread below. There are also some books and other resources in there for those interested.
And we’re experimenting with NFTs. Each concert-goer gets one for free. I’m old enough to remember the pre-Napster world, when musicians were paid handsomely for their craft. Streaming has been a benefit to listeners, but artists have gotten the shorter end of the stick. NFTs might be a way to bring this back into balance.
Our next show is tomorrow night in Denver, Colorado. I have no idea how it will go. The altitude should be interesting. Maybe I’ll choke. Maybe I’ll freeze. It wouldn’t be the first time. Or maybe I’ll knock it out of the park.
Either way, my big sister’s got my back.
After that, we have a few more shows this summer. And after that, I don’t know exactly where we’ll go with this. Right now, we are a cover band playing songs from the soundtrack of my youth (Blink-182, Nirvana, Pearl Jam, etc.). Learning covers is an awesome way to get to know the rock n’ roll genre.
Maybe eventually we’ll try to write some original music. We’ll see.
In closing, I struggled whether or not to write any of this down at all. Just ignore this. Move on. Don’t pay attention. But I’ve spent too much of my life stuffing things down. After we buried Amanda, I don’t think I cried for over 15 years. I didn’t know I was allowed to.
I now understand this isn’t a healthy long-term strategy. What we stuff, we still carry.
So I decided to put some thoughts down on paper. For my eyes only. Maybe I would learn something, glean some insight. And that I certainly did.
Then I wrestled with whether or not to press send and publish this. After all, haters gonna hate. I am no stranger to ridicule.
But if people are going to hate on what we’re doing, then they should at least have the full context. They should have a chance to understand exactly what it is that they are attacking and trying to tear down. After that, it’s on them.
Lastly, to you Dad. Thank you for first introducing me to the piano and giving me the gift of music. Losing Amanda was devastating. I know she was the apple of your eye. There are no words. But hopefully these ones can help keep her memory alive. Wishing you a day full of peace, love, and healing on this Father’s Day.
And with that, I bid you all farewell. Until next time, when we meet again. On earth or in the stars shining down from above.
Much Love,
Tyler
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SAMHSA’s National Helpline is a free, confidential, 24/7, 365-day-a-year treatment referral and information service for individuals and families facing mental and/or substance use disorders. This service provides referrals to local treatment facilities, support groups, and community-based organizations. Call 1–800–662-HELP (4357)
The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline provides 24/7, free and confidential support for people in distress, prevention and crisis resources for individuals and families. Call 1–800–273-TALK (8255)
