It takes a lot to flush me out these days. When I retired from the music business, I was really sure about it. I still am. Every now and then I get a call that changes everything.

Everyone who is even halfway interesting has a few different comings of age. My first one was spent driving around Hollywood in my VW bug listening to Richard Blade and Rodney Bingenheimer play The Smiths, New Order, and The Psychedelic Furs.

In my mid-20s I had another coming of age. This time, it was far less pretty, and pretty drastic. The soundtrack to this coming of age was Galaxie 500 and Luna. Luna's music permeated my existence for an ungodly amount of years at that time. I had bought (even after the age of the Internet) all of their albums, and was obsessed with them. If any readers out there are rock critics, you know how tough it is to get a critic's attention.

We veteran critics and haters of anything trite all have a story of the time they were star struck. Mine happened the time I met Dean Wareham from Luna. I guess because I didn't expect to talk to anyone that night, and then turned around to see him standing next to me. I went to speak, and froze solid. That never happens to me, ever. It has never happened to me since.

A few days before the show, Cristy called and gave me the go-ahead. Jet Set were sending me to Luna. Hell, I woulda paid the price of entry, but there was just something about going to their last show and being on the list that was just cool. A few years ago, my brother and I were shut out of a Cleveland show as they were sold out. This time, I was invited to the show. Not that it is a huge deal to be on the list, but at least I couldn't be shut out.

I spent a few hours the week before checking out what the other interviewers asked, and finally, I realized that this is not rocket science or brain surgery, or any of those really complicated things that people compare everything to. This is music. This is the closure of a group of people I had grown up again with. There is nothing more to it than what we make of it. I decided to completely skip the inane questions.

Before the show I saw a cat at the soundboard, and I went to ask if I could snap some photos. I asked him if he was the sound guy, then realized it was Sean (guitarist) when he turned to answer. Feeling my own road weariness creep back in from so many nights of making hour-long conversations with complete strangers, I just told him "thank you" for Luna.

On the way to the bar, I hooked up with Dean. With Dean also, I thanked him for Luna. I guess at this bend in the road, there really is not much else to say. They were there for my coming of age. Now, it's their turn to figure it all out again.

As for the show, it was a Luna show. It was ethereal. People were smoking long weed in front. The crowd was eclectic as hell. They played the soundtrack of my life as I met another cool character: Andrew from Apostle of Hustle. The show was a great mix of the two bands, and I had a great time, but I couldn't help wonder if the closing up shop of Luna, the death of my idol John Peel, and the death of Cleveland icon Harold Freshour was pointing me to yet another coming of age.

Well, Luna, thanks for the long drives at 3AM, one scotch on the rocks over the legal limit, cigarettes overflowing in the ashtray, and the opening riff of "Chinatown".

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