Raiding Dad's Albums
We talk a lot in these artist statements about our dad. If you’ve been following us here at BroJamas at all, you know that both of us find so much inspiration in our connection to him. He passed away from cancer a short year after the first brototype pj's we ever made. When he was sick his comfort became so important to us and as much as anything, that was truly a catalyst for our designs. But even while sick he still managed to push us into a larger state of mind, a bigger thought process that encompassed not only the function of what we were making. It wasn’t just the form, it was the artistry. And above all - the message we were trying to convey.
That is who our dad was, a big-picture guy. He could never be satisfied with small-scale answers. And I like to think that way of thinking came from his own personal investment in art: music.
Sure, he dabbled in making music - he played the bass - but he always felt he was limited in what he could create musically himself. He also had a huge appreciation for musical variety that led him to a career in radio. That career only expanded his musical knowledge and passion, and that passion trickled down to the both of us very early on.
It’s hard to think of a time when our house was without music. It could be anything, really, from 90's grunge, to J-Pop, to classical piano. All music was accepted, because all music was a window to another state of mind. Another person's perspective to enhance or change your own. An intrinsic way to tap into something bigger than ourselves.
Actually raiding dad’s albums in the days of our youth was like discovering ancient relics with wisdom of a time we hadn’t yet aged into experiencing. Nothing was off limits, anything could be found within those records, cassettes, CD's or .mp3 files.
Dad hated it when we moved his stuff - but what dad doesn’t? He always seemed to know, even when we carefully returned the case to the shelf exactly where we found it, that it had been moved. But unlike his extensive collection of video games and comics, his music was never truly off-limits. The only time I remember getting in trouble for touching his albums was when I didn’t give them back.
He encouraged the exploration of music, encouraged relating to the music. Not just listening to it, but dissecting to understand the emotional resonance behind it. When I learned I love punk, he introduced me to The Clash, The Ramones, and the Sex Pistols. He encouraged my post-punk explorations into Sonic Youth, The Smiths, The Violent Femmes, saw merit in my love of experimental pop influenced artists like They Might be Giants and yes, even The Presidents of the United States of America. He never judged, and he always had already heard whatever I thought I was discovering first.
At the same time, my sister was exploring music on her own too - genres of harder metal, rap and hip-hop, and her own weird music she loved like Primus, and I don’t think I ever once heard him tell her to turn it down. In fact, I’m pretty sure he asked her what she liked about it and opened a dialogue. Music was dialogue, it was how we could relate to one another when we didn’t have the words to say it ourselves.
That’s truly where this line of BroJamas comes from. A creation that taps into the musical history we share with our dad, the music that reminds us most of him, and the inspiration he continues to give us.
Each piece in Raiding Dad’s Albums is a story of a musical artist, genre or album that reminds us most of our dad. You’ll see his playlist represented in the choices we made, and we hope that we captured in the artistry of them the way that dad’s music touched us and continues to inspire us. The musical conversation with our dad isn’t over, and in this most personal of BroJamas lines we thought we’d let you have a part in that conversation too.
~Emperor of Evil
That is who our dad was, a big-picture guy. He could never be satisfied with small-scale answers. And I like to think that way of thinking came from his own personal investment in art: music.
Sure, he dabbled in making music - he played the bass - but he always felt he was limited in what he could create musically himself. He also had a huge appreciation for musical variety that led him to a career in radio. That career only expanded his musical knowledge and passion, and that passion trickled down to the both of us very early on.
It’s hard to think of a time when our house was without music. It could be anything, really, from 90's grunge, to J-Pop, to classical piano. All music was accepted, because all music was a window to another state of mind. Another person's perspective to enhance or change your own. An intrinsic way to tap into something bigger than ourselves.
Actually raiding dad’s albums in the days of our youth was like discovering ancient relics with wisdom of a time we hadn’t yet aged into experiencing. Nothing was off limits, anything could be found within those records, cassettes, CD's or .mp3 files.
Dad hated it when we moved his stuff - but what dad doesn’t? He always seemed to know, even when we carefully returned the case to the shelf exactly where we found it, that it had been moved. But unlike his extensive collection of video games and comics, his music was never truly off-limits. The only time I remember getting in trouble for touching his albums was when I didn’t give them back.
He encouraged the exploration of music, encouraged relating to the music. Not just listening to it, but dissecting to understand the emotional resonance behind it. When I learned I love punk, he introduced me to The Clash, The Ramones, and the Sex Pistols. He encouraged my post-punk explorations into Sonic Youth, The Smiths, The Violent Femmes, saw merit in my love of experimental pop influenced artists like They Might be Giants and yes, even The Presidents of the United States of America. He never judged, and he always had already heard whatever I thought I was discovering first.
At the same time, my sister was exploring music on her own too - genres of harder metal, rap and hip-hop, and her own weird music she loved like Primus, and I don’t think I ever once heard him tell her to turn it down. In fact, I’m pretty sure he asked her what she liked about it and opened a dialogue. Music was dialogue, it was how we could relate to one another when we didn’t have the words to say it ourselves.
That’s truly where this line of BroJamas comes from. A creation that taps into the musical history we share with our dad, the music that reminds us most of him, and the inspiration he continues to give us.
Each piece in Raiding Dad’s Albums is a story of a musical artist, genre or album that reminds us most of our dad. You’ll see his playlist represented in the choices we made, and we hope that we captured in the artistry of them the way that dad’s music touched us and continues to inspire us. The musical conversation with our dad isn’t over, and in this most personal of BroJamas lines we thought we’d let you have a part in that conversation too.
~Emperor of Evil
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