For The Band That Inspires Me
The role models that made it easier for me to continue my passions.
The only music I had available to me as a kid was what my parents put on in the car. Later, it was what was on my father’s iPod Touch that he gave to me when he decided to upgrade. In the car, it was usually 80s hair bands and 2000s alternative. The stations stayed strictly on rock music, and I remember clinging to every word of those songs as a child.
As you can imagine, my father’s music library was much the same. I wasn’t mad at it, considering I had grown to enjoy the heavy melodies.
That iPod Touch became my first real sense of individuality and responsibility, being able to customize my wallpapers and watch YouTube whenever I wanted to.
I recall going through the iPod when I first received it, drawing in my sketchbook to my heart’s content as I shuffled through various tracks. In my ears, old wired earbuds that came with Apple products back then. You wouldn’t catch them even thinking about including that now; you’re lucky even get a charging cable today. Hell, you don’t even get a headphone jack anymore.
The earbuds weren’t the best quality, but I didn’t know that back then. I was probably 9 or 10 years old, and audio quality didn’t mean much as long as I got to listen to something. I used to record songs on my DSi to listen to for godssake, so I was pretty lenient.
Shuffling and shuffling was an interesting journey for my young self. A lot of the songs were downloaded by my sister from the infamous Limewire (and probably Frostwire too) for my father. I know that because I specifically remember the song “Through Glass” by Stone Sour having a weird, screeching beep halfway through the song that lasted for only a few seconds. A beep I had learned to live with as a child, and even when listening to the song today, I sometimes miss if only for the strange nostalgia.
During those weeks, I discovered so many new songs, tunes that were all PG-13 or even R-rated at times, but I enjoyed them nonetheless. Music that they never played on the radio, but I suppose that only made sense, considering the DJs liked to play the same tracks over and over again anyway (something that still hasn’t changed). There was one song in particular that struck my interest though.
“Hollywood Whore” by Papa Roach.
I hadn’t heard that one before. I had heard other singles by the band, like “Last Resort” and “Forever,” but not this one. Granted, I probably shouldn’t have been listening to it anyway, but I also grew up in an era of new technology and the rise of the internet. My generation was fed digital distractions, usually getting into things we shouldn’t have anyway.
But my parents also watched horror movies with me and my father even joined in my Mortal Kombat sessions many a time on late summer nights. Now, horror is a genre I focus heavily on in my personal work, and Mortal Kombat is one of my favorite video game franchises. I don’t think listening to music I shouldn’t have affected me all that much.
After “Hollywood Whore” played out, I was curious to know more, shuffling their playlist to listen to more of their music.
I had been converted into a fan overnight.
I would buy their new albums (a collection of CDs I still own) and dream of a day I could see them live in concert. Of course, I’d have to wait maybe just a little more until that’d ever happen.
At 16, I still enjoyed Papa Roach and elevated them to the status of my favorite band.
By this stage in my life, I had gotten more heavily involved in my creative side. I took my art and writing more seriously now, with art being a field I aspired to be a part of, even despite the lack of art clubs and classes in my school.
Being in a small rural town, the high school there only cared about sports. Football and volleyball were much more important than the arts.
I liked to show my appreciation for the band through my fan art. I started pretty small, and my art wasn’t exactly the most spectacular. Then, as I grew into my artistic shoes, I began to practice more with semi-realism and comic book-inspired artwork.
Shocking enough, Papa Roach would actually like my art a lot on Instagram. Something simple, but it excited me to keep going with my art. I remember challenging myself to draw new art for every album, which I still enjoy today.
My artwork had been liked by Papa Roach, reposted by one of the band members, and even featured on Alternative Press. It was a strange feeling, considering in the past my art never seemed to get any attention in school events.
The random abundance of love for my art made me happy. I was proud of my artwork, and it was amazing that others liked it too.
There was, however, a certain day that changed a lot for me in terms of my motivation for the craft.
Just like any other day, the bus dropped me off from school at my neighborhood entrance. The bus never drove inside, so we had a few options: a.) walk home, b.) bike home, 3.) your parents’ pick you up in their car. In recent years, I’ve even seen children drive golf carts up to the bus stop.
I normally walked home, considering it was only a short 6–8 minute walk to my house, and after sitting all day, they exercise was welcomed.
Typically, my walk home had my nose in my phone as I walked, listening to music or watching a quick YouTube video. Pulling my phone out of my pocket that day was different than usual, though.
My lock screen had notifications that were a bit strange to me. They seemed unreal, like a dream of sorts. As my eyes scanned the messages to see what they were, my heart almost jumped out of my throat.
Papa Roach mentioned you in a post.
Papa Roach tagged you in a post.
Wait, what?
I was met with the band’s official Instagram account sharing my artwork I did of their song “Born For Greatness.”
As one can imagine, a 16-year-old having her art shared by her favorite band is pretty damn cool! My heart was fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird, my walk much more exciting than it usually was.
It was the first time that I felt as if my art was actually going somewhere.
My motivation skyrocketed, and my younger self continued to pump out both original art and fan art of various franchises. Then, a month or two later, I was messaged by one of my mutuals.
They had sent me an image of the back of someone’s leg. Whose leg? I don’t know. Still don’t — it’s been a mystery ever since. It’s not the leg that really mattered anyway — it was what was on the leg: my art. The same artwork that had been reposted by Papa Roach prior.
It was a tattoo. On someone’s leg. That’s pretty permanent.
Again, I was 16. Lots of artists never get their work done as a tattoo, nevermind at such a young age.
I thought it was neat somebody felt my art was good enough to put on their skin.
At this point, my inner artist only thrived more. I was getting more confident in myself, believing I could pursue what I wanted as a career. I had been making my portfolio for an art college which I was beyond excited for.
News broke that I got accepted into the art school of my dreams.
Awesome. I was going to get my degree in Illustration and use the resources from that college to get me somewhere.
Except, no, not really.
I didn’t have the funds. I couldn’t get the suitable loans. I couldn’t get — anything. There were so many factors, all piling up into a massive landfill of garbage that I couldn’t clean up. I graduated high school early, leaving in December rather than May (though I walked with everybody just the same), and decided to take a year off.
It was the same year of COVID, by the way. Class of 2020. Congratu-fucking-lations.
2020 was an awful year. Both because of that nasty virus that terrified me, and because I felt like my academic journey had fallen short. I couldn’t get the proper loans for that college, so I wasn’t going to art school.
By 2021, I had gotten my first job. I hated it. Every second of it. It was a job of repetition, and the first day had been the majority of me dissociating to escape from it. I may have been there, but mentally I had clocked out while fighting tears in my eyes.
I left immediately for my mental well-being.
From there, I was a hostess. People were vile, hungry, and angry that I couldn’t seat them because we were low on staff.
Finally, I got into retail. That wasn’t much better, but I could stand the people there more than the woman who made me cry as a hostess.
This was a period of trying to find my footing. Every retail job I had made me want to pull my teeth out with a pair of pliers, rather it be from the customers or the boredom.
The only good part of it was being able to afford a therapist. I had finally been diagnosed with anxiety, which definitely helped explained a lot.
I bounced from job to job every few months to find what was good for me. This store? No. That store? No. I eventually was in a limbo stage with no job, meaning no therapy.
I was not my best. I was bummed over the college of my dreams being just out of my reach. I felt like without it; I would never go anywhere. I didn’t have a job to keep my mind busy and distracted from that, so I spent days trying to apply for jobs in my bed.
My bed was comfortable. It was warm and inviting. I didn’t want to get out of it. At times I felt there was no point to anyway.
My father suggested he would help pay for me to go back to therapy as I looked for a job. A gesture I still haven’t forgotten, considering what it meant to me. Eventually, I got another one, and my thoughts were able to be distracted from the recent upset.
Plans had to change, so my mother helped me figure out a new path. I ended up pursuing my degree in Creative Writing instead. My classes would all be online, but it was more affordable. Plus, I was glad I could continue my academics in some way or another.
Skip ahead a few months. I finally started my college courses. I managed to find a consistent schedule in therapy. I had a stable part-time job, even though it was one I didn’t really like.
I was fine. I wasn’t extremely happy or anything, but I was doing okay. I was pushing myself more to find a career in writing, but I was also heavily invested in my art. Besides, they were the two things I could count on outside of therapy for venting.
2022.
My birthday.
My friend wanted to get me something special. I think it was because of how I had been going through ups and downs. I had switched from retail to a full-time office job. One that oftentimes made me feel like a husk of myself, but I bit my tongue because I needed the money.
Of course, I expected some ups and downs — I was pursuing something risky, after all. It didn’t deter me away, even if it probably should have. I was stubborn and always have been.
My friend sent me a link — to a video — a Cameo, to be exact.
Cameo… isn’t that the app celebrities and YouTubers use to make videos for people? I didn’t know what to expect from this. Who did she possibly get to make a video for me? Even more important: how much money did she spend on me?
God, I hope not a lot.
Opening the link led me to a Cameo from someone that I recognized instantly. A video from the frontman of my favorite band. On my screen was Jacoby Shaddix!
My friend had explained that I was an artist and that I had an original character that was inspired by him. The video delved into this, and it was nice knowing that he at least knew of any of that.
The entire video was special enough, honestly. Something that meant a lot to me, as silly as it sounds, because it really helped me in the place I was in at the time. It’s hard to put what the video meant into words, but it’s something that I’ll never forget.
Things felt brighter, if only for a short Cameo from someone I had looked up to since I was a literal child.
By the end of the video, Shaddix mentioned he would’ve liked to know a social media account to see my art. My friend, being the over-the-top wonderful person she is, had left her 5-star review with my Instagram handle.
I didn’t think much of it. I was just happy with my Cameo.
Days passed — a week probably passed. I hadn’t been checking any of my socials, trying to limit myself to help with my anxiety.
The one day I did check my Instagram, though, gave me quite a surprise. A notification that I never received, hiding in my app:
Papa Roach has followed you.
Oh, I guess he actually read that review then. Holy shit.
I wasn’t sure how to feel. I had looked up to this band since I was a kid. I don’t believe in celebrity worship, but I definitely believe in the idea of role models.
And they had acted as role models to me, as they pursued creative dreams and made them a reality. It was something I aspired to do as well, even if my creative endeavors were a little different.
From likes to a repost to a follow — getting that support made me feel like I could still do something with my passions.
I had always been motivated to pursue my passions. I knew it would be difficult to get to where I wanted to be, but I continued to persevere if only because it’s what I love to do.
The bumps in the road make the journey harder than many people would think though. When someone says, “Work through it,” it’s easier said than done. You have to be mentally and emotionally strong to continue on after the many hurdles you managed to jump over and run into.
Those little things that the band did, well, it made it just a little easier to keep going.
