Kyle Koliha.
Remember that name.
He used to write under me in the Entertainment section of my defunct weekly alternative newspaper, The Omaha Pulp. He was the music critic and a very bright and talented one at that.
It wasn't until the paper closed down that I realized what a terrific singer/songwriter he was. About a year after the paper closed, he met up with me when I was staying at my buddy Matteo's place in Minneapolis. It was then and there that he handed me a copy of his first demo track on CD and told me to give it a listen and offer some feedback later on.
I'll admit it: I was skeptical. You have to remember that, like, a gazillion CDs worth of crap passed through our offices during the time the Pulp was around. Music hopefuls would ask us to listen to their CDs and ask us to review their stuff. It wasn't always pretty. In fact, a lot of it was pure noise, shit.
And I would feel soooooo guilty.
I do not exaggerate when I tell you that Kyle's demo track was better than most professional musician's slickly-produced and polished LPs.
The tune was titled, "Our Song." He wrote it, sang it and, save the percussion, performed all the instrumentals, including piano and guitar.
I played it once and it made me cry. It was lovely, absolutely gorgeous. I played it again. Same reaction. And then again and again again. If there was one criticism I had, it was the title. It sounded too close to Elton John's "Your Song." I sent him a quick text message telling him how much I enjoyed the song as well as a gentle suggestion about a possible title change.
Needless to say, I wanted more. It took about two and a half years and probably pounds of weed smoked later (on my part--we'll get to that later) for my wish to be granted.
In the interim, I've played that one song countless times, I've made out to the song while it played on my stereo as well as put it on a mix tape for my ex.
But never was it ever so exquisite as when I saw him perform it in front of a live audience, this last Saturday, at the Saddle Creek Bar & Grill. It was there that, in addition to his original demo song--now titled "Something Nice"--he played five songs that were like orgasms in my ear. They hit me hard. Maybe it was a surge of pride for him that I was experiencing or just a recognition of the universal themes of his songs--love, the desire to be a better man, faith and spirituality--but I began to break down. I've never cried at a concert like that, but man, oh man...I just lost it.
You got me, Kyle. You got me good.
The highlight of the concert for me, though, was when he pulled me up on stage and we did a duet to a sort of improv, electric guitar version of "You Are My Sunshine."
It was magical.
Now, there's a little epilogue to this story of what I hope is rising fame.
It's been two and a half years since I sent him that text message which, really, was little more than an afterthought for me. I was pretty much stoned that whole weekend when we met in MN. And I wanted to give him something in the way of constructive criticism.
On Saturday, after the show, I approached him, hugged him tight, and told him how amazing and talented I thought he was. He, of course, thanked me. I went on to say, "Man, it's been a long time! I remember when that one song you gave me used to be called "Our Song."
He looked at me strangely and said, "are you kidding me?!" I just stared at him, not knowing what he was talking about. He went, "Do you know why I changed it?" I told him I had no idea.
"Let me show you," he said.
Nothing could prepare me emotionally for what happened next: He ripped into his bag, pulled out his cell phone and went down to the bottom of his text messages and retrieved a single text from two and a half years ago that read something to the effect of: "Loved the song. Made me cry, One suggestion: The title sounds a little close to the Elton John song. Maybe change it to "Something Nice."
My jaw dropped to the floor. I had completely forgotten that I had sent him that text. Like I said, I smoked a lot of pot since then.
I looked at him, flabbergasted, on the verge of tears, I gently touched my chest with my hand and said, "I wrote that?" He nodded his head with this look of bemusement on his face. And I repeated, this time without the question mark at the end. "Wow. I wrote that." He nodded his head again and enthusiastically went on to say, "I changed the title of the song because of you, your suggestion...because of the text you sent me. It was a huge to-do for me."
You know, sometimes, I'm afraid that I'm passing through this life like a ghost. This last Saturday, I was proven wrong by Kyle Koliha.
Remember that name.
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