And the Stewy goes to…

At 48 1/2 years old, you come to realize some truths about yourself that can probably be called eternal truths. For me, there’s this one: My appetite for music and concert-going isn’t fading away. Not even a little. Spending a full day at a festival, running from one stage to the next, camera in tow, is as good as a vacation.

Every night that I get on my bike for the two-minute straight shot to Belly Up Aspen makes me feel like a kid. I’m happy to report that, even as my stash of favorite acts has piled up to the toppling point — there’s just not enough time to give proper listening attention to all the CDs in my collection, for which I feel guilty — I haven’t lost the thrill of discovering new sounds.

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