James Leste

They say there are no words for moments like these, but then you're asked to write some. You unexpectedly left Portland, Oregon, on the morning of November 12th, 2022. Where were you headed in such a hurry: One last tour? I went by your place, and it didn't look like you had packed. I have your guitars and placed them meticulously in their cases, just like you would have. Please let me know where I should send them. Rock n' roll will never die, but it's quieter everywhere since you left, and I can't hear any music. Curiously, it's been sunny here all damn week. It's like some dark enchantment has lifted, and the city can no longer muster its usual gloominess under its trusty grey blankets. Maybe that means something; maybe it's just the wind. We're all worried, but I suspect you're okay - I know you've got friends for days. We're gonna have a party for you; we just need to figure out when. For now, go easy, brother. - Justin Leste