Steve Kolter

So, there I am. Eight years old and I have just finished writing my first song on the piano complete with verse, bridge, and chorus. I couldn’t tell you how it went, some sort of Beach Boys-esque ditty about summer and girls. At least that’s how my memory tells it. But, I was hooked. In one afternoon I had discovered the one common thread that would sew my soul to my body for the rest of my life.

Since then, I have been in countless bands. I started my first band during what I call the Guns ‘n Roses summer. It was the summer when, at 12 years old, I ventured to learn every single note Slash played on Appetite for Destruction. The band didn’t last long but the determination to spend my life creating music had only begun.

By the time I graduated from high school I had recorded 2 full-length albums with my band, Spitting Seeds, and performed at countless venues throughout the Delaware Valley. My songwriting efforts had begun to take form as I developed a voice of my own, both vocally and lyrically. We had no lack of gigs and were under consideration from a minor indie label.

However, the brakes were slammed as a lifelong battle with depression began to manifest with a secondary symptom of chemical dependency. While my depression forced me to isolate myself in my bedroom making hours and hours of 4-track recordings that nobody would ever hear, I drank myself into total abandonment. I slithered through the next ten years in a chemical fog before realizing that I had lived the VH1 biography without ever having made it to the spotlight. How pathetic!

So, I did what anyone else would do. I packed it in, got medicated, got married, cleaned up my act, and started a family. Over the course of seven years of domestic bliss, I would record sporadic songs in a home studio, but most of my musical talent would be spent playing Wiggles songs for my kids. I also met some people who play traditional folk music. It was through learning these historic ballads, jigs, and reels that I really learned to enjoy playing music. The feverish determination to make a career was lifted. Now, I could just play songs and have fun. I sat in with several traditional ensembles for different performances, but always just for fun. I always took on a few gigs as a studio musician, bringing my ability to adapt to most styles to other performers’ recordings.

If you want to find out if you are really a songwriter, all you have to do is try to quit writing. If you are able to quit, then you were never really a song writer. But, if you can’t quit thinking up hooks and melodies, you have no choice but to write. In the past year, I realized that I had collected a considerable amount of material over seven years of domestic life. I wasn’t trying to write. I never even planned on writing anything. It just accumulated without my noticing. So, I put a few of my songs on download.com to see what happens.

Within two weeks, one of my songs, Mary Magdalene, would enter the Top 10 Editor’s Picks at number 4. In no time, my songs were being downloaded hundreds of times per week.

Stunned by all of this, I figured that I ought to do something with my music. First, I collected those songs from the past seven years onto a c.d. entitled Gooby Blah Blah (my 5-year-old named it). I have also put a more concerted effort into recording a cohesive collection of songs on a forthcoming c.d. entitled Songs of Earth and Sky. I have been showcased with the Acoustic Roadshow and performed on the Roadshow’s monthly television program. I have also performed at a variety of coffee houses and cafes.

I am doing what I am doing just because I love it. Also, I can’t stop. For some reason, I was made to turn my imaginings into songs. I have only been back on the scene for a short time, but I have been around.

So, what do I sound like? Imagine Doc Watson making love with Arlo Guthrie and their baby gets into a car accident with Neil Young. Since the doctors cannot save both the baby and Neil Young, they form one body out of their remains. In great need of a blood transfusion David Bowie (Yes, David Bowie) donates a pint of blood which is administered by Ralph Stanley and overseen by Jeff Tweedy. The end result is an creature known as Steve Kolter.