I stood behind a massive stage outside the Albright-Knox Art Gallery and there were thousands of people out front waiting, watching. I held my guitar at my side and tried to breathe normally but there was no way. It felt like pure electricity was flowing through my veins. I still couldn’t believe this was about to happen.
The stage manager gave me the signal and I walked up the stairs. Bright lights shone down on me as I moved to the center of the stage and adjusted the mic. I looked out at the crowd. Surreal.
“Hi, I’m Chris Campos,” I said. Then I started to play and sing. I was so amped up I could hardly control my fingers or my voice, but then something kicked in, something deep, and I calmed down. I somehow channeled this overwhelmingly intense energy and lost myself in the music.
This story doesn’t start here. It doesn’t end here either. But this moment at the Music is Art festival will forever be etched in my heart because it’s when one of my many music dreams became a reality.
I didn’t grow up in a particularly musical family. There were no instruments in my house. But my mom loved music, and when I was a young boy I fell in love with it too. I remember playing the few albums we had over and over on the stereo. Randy Newman. Spyro Gyra. The Big Chill soundtrack. And when I wasn’t near the stereo I kept playing my favorite songs in my head, connecting to a musical force that made me feel alive and understood.
When I was a little older I found my own music. I didn't have an older brother or sister who told me about the cool bands, so I listened to the radio. Michael Jackson’s Thriller and Prince’s Purple Rain were my first loves.
For years I spent most of my paper route money on music. I bought a dual cassette and turntable stereo from Kmart and thought I had the coolest setup in the world. My mom would take me to Record Theatre every few weeks so I could buy more music, 80s music, mostly Top 40, and I loved it all. I had a big stack of 45s that I’d listen to in my bedroom each and every day.
But the thought of playing music myself, of singing what I felt in my heart, seemed impossible. I didn't even know anyone that played an instrument. But whenever I saw live music, whether it was a busker or a local band at a summer street festival, I was transfixed. I’d stand there and stare not only in awe, but also in love. I was in love with the idea of being a musician who could bring these transcendent sounds to the world just like magic.
I had all sorts of music dreams back then. I had rock and roll dreams of playing on big stages in front of massive crowds. I dreamed of dancing like Michael Jackson. I dreamed of strumming and singing like Bob Dylan.
I couldn’t sing in tune or keep a steady beat though. I also didn’t know how to dance, and I had no confidence to give it a try. So I just kept the music dreams inside, too nervous to even talk about them.
My love for music kept growing though. The Beatles. Bob Marley. Nirvana. I felt so comforted when I listened to these beautiful souls. The beats and the grooves moved me. But the raw power and emotion of the singing was what gave voice to my deepest feelings. Sometimes I felt tender and sensitive. Sometimes I felt angry, or confused, or filled with shame. Sometimes I felt love and absolute euphoria. Listening again and again to these songs helped me understand my feelings. And I didn't feel alone anymore. Thank god for music.
Then a few of my friends got guitars and everything changed. Watching Brian play a riff I knew and loved felt like watching a wizard cast a spell before my eyes. But then I realized something. As stupid as it might sound, it had never dawned on me that learning to play an instrument wasn’t magic. It was just like learning any other skill, meaning if you practiced and kept working at it you’d figure it out. Soon enough I was noodling around myself. I still remember learning the bass line to Stir it Up, which was the first song I ever played. After that I was always asking anybody who played to teach me something new. I couldn’t get enough.
The next year my father bought me a guitar. It was midway through my senior year, and I got a Peavey Predator, a knock off of a Fender Strat. I’d sit in my bedroom playing for hours, or until my fingers hurt so bad I couldn’t keep going. It was an electric guitar and I didn't even have an amp, so I’d just play it acoustic and soon figured out that even if I was playing hard it was quiet enough that I could stay up and play late into the night without waking my parents or siblings.
Right after I got to college as a freshman, a few guys came to my dorm room because they were starting a band and they heard I had a guitar. Just like that I became lead guitarist for a garage rock band. I wrote a few three-chord punk songs that we’d practice in a basement a few times a week. Playing with a drummer and bassist and singer was one of the coolest things I’d ever done in my life up to that point. The songs I wrote grew into something larger and took on a life of their own. We grooved together. Our sound quickly grew tighter and more distinct.
Weeks later one of the guys booked a gig for us to open for a popular band on campus. I was so nervous I could hardly eat or sleep in the days leading up to the show. More than once I almost quit the band just so I wouldn't have to go through with it. But then the day of the show came and we played a six song set that brought the house down. A small mosh pit raged in front of us. Most of these were my songs and they were blasting so unbelievably loud through the sound system I could feel it in my bones. It was amazing. Playing a rocking live show in a band was also one of my music dreams coming true.
The band lasted through the end of the school year and then we never got it going again when we returned after summer break. I still played constantly, although mostly by myself, learning how to strum and sing lots of songs, including a ton of Bob Dylan. I remember I had a few acid jazz jam sessions with some college friends at some point, and then Brian and I spent the summer after graduation performing as an acoustic guitar duo. We played a few shows and some open mics. And that was it in terms of performing for the next several years.
I entered the working world and moved out west. I got interested in other things, like writing and making movies. But I always played and sang a lot, although it was generally in my bedroom after work. Every once in a while I’d play a drunken set of songs for my buddies at a party, but otherwise it was just me playing because I loved it and it kept me sane. I wanted more though, and around this time I remember blowing out the candles on my birthday and wishing to have the courage to put myself out there and play live music. I think I had the same birthday wish six or seven years in a row.
When I moved back to Buffalo and met Julie I played for her all the time and she really encouraged me to put myself out there. She’d demand that I bust out the guitar when we were with friends and she’d sing along so beautifully with a voice that’s always reminded me of Patsy Cline.
A couple of friends asked me to play at their weddings during these years and that was huge for me. I also played a song at each of my grandmother’s funerals. I remember feeling so clearly that music plays such a special role at so many important moments of our lives.
And that’s when things came crashing down in my life. There were a few years filled with tragedy and heartbreak where I struggled mightily. I was crushed and sad and after many hard months I realized I needed to do something with my life that felt good and pure.
All the while music was speaking to my soul and telling me something that I couldn't quite grasp.
Then it hit me. I needed to play more music, a lot more music. It was as simple as that.
So I scaled back at work and started working just a few days a week. Julie and I lived extremely frugally back then so this worked out fine although we had to cut back on some things. With all this extra time I started practicing and playing for hours a day. On some days I’d seriously play for eight hours or more. And slowly I learned how to channel my feelings more deeply into music. I learned how to play and sing what I was feeling in my heart and soul.
This doesn’t mean I have the most beautiful voice or perfect guitar technique, far from it. But I did learn how to close my eyes and tune out the outside world and express exactly what was going on inside with honesty and an open heart.
I was in my early thirties now and was feeling kind of old to be doing this, but I also knew it had to be done. I had to put myself out there. So on my thirty second birthday I again wished for the courage to start playing live music, but this time it felt different.
A few months later I played a solo gig at a local coffee shop and this started a lovely chain reaction. Friends of mine recommended me for gigs they knew about. I played art galleries and restaurants and fundraisers and birthday parties. I played for people who loved my music and for people who could’ve cared less. I played in empty rooms. I played classical guitar brunches. I was playing live once or twice a week now and getting paid for it. I wasn't making much money, but I was still a professional. I was living another music dream.
Julie sat me down one evening during all of this. She wanted me to visualize what it would feel like to play on a huge stage in front of a massive crowd. She told the story of it happening and walked me through it as I kept my eyes closed and tried to feel it. I could feel it to be honest, but it also felt like a strange and impossible dream.
It also dawned on me then that I had realized many of my music dreams already. I was gigging all the time and connecting with lots of people. I was a small time musician in Buffalo, New York, but I was a musician nonetheless, and I was proud of this and excited about it, and I knew I never again had to wish the same wish on my birthday.
I started applying to festivals, like the Music is Art Festival and Lewiston Jazz Festival, and incredibly I started getting accepted. Then one beautiful Saturday night in September I got to walk on stage in front of thousands of people at the Albright-Knox and play my music.
I recorded an album the following year. I got a couple of steady gigs at cool bars and restaurants and developed a little bit of a following too. Nothing big, but nice. It was local and personal and wonderful.
Right now I’m taking an extended break from performing because I have young kids and my favorite thing in the world is to be home with them. But I can’t wait to get back out there someday, and someday I’m sure I will.
I’d also love to write more songs and record an album of original music.
And one day I want to start an acoustic reggae band.
But the reality is that whatever happens from now on would be gravy, because my music dreams have already come true.