Nat Doegen

"You cannot leave this life until you do what whatever it is you're here to do," she said, and left me in a drunken pile by the stairs. The lights of New Year's Eve flickered, the people cheered, the calendar changed, and I sobbed in a way that I never had before. The simple words of a self-proclaimed astrology expert made it so clear: this was my terrible curse, but it was also my beautiful blessing.
Most musicians will tell you that "I got so-and-so's record when I was some age, and at that moment I knew I wanted to be a rock star." I can tell you that the first tape I owned was Bon Jovi's
"Slippery When Wet," but that wasn't the moment I "knew," and to this day, I don't want to be a rock star.
Although I had music as a passion already, I didn't start on my true path until I owned two things: a guitar, and "Come on Feel the Lemonheads". I was fifteen years old- Evan Dando was my hero, and
I was sure that if I knew five chords, I knew everything there was to know. The bands I was in became increasingly better and serious, as I did I- and then I was hit by lightning, metaphorically speaking.
I was living with a girl who was obsessed with Jeff Buckley, and played the "Grace" record on a minute-to-minute basis. For a few months, it drove me up the wall, until inevitably I gave in to what is, in my opinion, one of the greatest records of all time. The paradigm of what I thought music was rolled aside for something larger and more poetic, and suddenly I didn't so much want to be a "rock star" anymore, as much as I wanted to just make amazing music. Suddenly I was aware that there was a way to use it as a device; something that could break and mend hearts, lift spirits, and create tears. At some point, I became certain that music, as I saw it, was my burden and my destiny.
Shortly thereafter, I quit playing in bands, and began focusing on improving as a songwriter. I took up a pen name, moved to Los Angeles, and found the same brick walls that many people do. I was more sure of my abilities than ever before, and
my songwriting was improving in leaps and bounds. More and more, however, I was beginning to feel like my destiny was teasing me...I was somewhat enlightened, albeit bitter and frustrated. I took an album's worth of songs and a few demos back to the East Coast, and started another band.
The doors immediately began to open for Victory Twin. My dreams became increasingly tangible- we were opening for national acts, putting out records, and gaining the validation I had sought the whole time. For close to three years, I went back to chiseling away mercilessly- and the universe went back to testing my patience. The band called it quits, and laying in the rubble, I saw myself as I was that New Year's Eve: beaten, humble, confused...and then I thought about Jeff Buckley.
I remembered that I have the ability to break and mend hearts. I remembered that I'm not anchored to music because it is my obligation, I have tied myself to it because it is my love. This is not the call of destiny. It is not a burden, and it is most certainly not a curse. This is my passion, this is my liberty, and this is my life...and I will not leave until I do whatever it is I am here to do.