There was a point in time where the echoes of a guitar hammered within the canyons of the Santa Monica mountains. As the falcons flew and the seagulls glided by, they were courted with the brilliant chords of some of the greatest music artists this side of the Mississippi. California, known for Hollywood stars and classy bars, had its fair share of talented musicians that gathered for the kumbaya of an authentic, chilling song that would be loved by all.
The issues were clear, however. No person could get famous without an edge and without a strong backbone. Agents would treat talent as pawns, Directors would work them to the bone, and the studios would milk them dry.
They were the old classic sense of Hollywood, where dreams were mostly destroyed for profit, and it still remains the same total.
Some know California as the land of the lost. The…
View original post 288 more words