“To give someone their flowers…” 

A strange phrase, but nonetheless, a saying that’s emerged at the forefront of popular culture. 

In the age of digital transience, recognition is difficult to encounter. It’s easy to leave an impression, but almost impossible to make it last – to cut deep enough to make your mark… 

In fact, an ‘impression’ – a technical term that’s emerged in the budding vocabulary of digital marketing – is the antithesis of ‘lasting.’ An ‘impression’ is the smallest unit used to measure a digital encounter – a flash in the grid – meaningless, mere formality… Less impactful than brushing shoulders with someone in a busy airport; like seeing a commercial on TV, with no intention to follow up or take the bait. 

“A metric that counts the total number of times an advertisement, organic search result, or a piece of content is displayed on a user’s screen or device.” 

Sure, the internet is forever, but in this decedent age of overkill – who’s listening? 

Who’s actually paying attention to your infinitesimal piece of the puzzle?  

To “give someone their flowers” means to recognize and appreciate – to honor a mentor, an influence, a pioneer; to extoll their merits; to simply acknowledge the profound impact they’ve had on yourself, others, an area of life or culture… It’s not about rigid scholarship, science, or data – rather the acknowledgement itself – we’re all torchbearers, protecting embers that smolder from fires past… 

The phrase intrigues me, because nothing in life stands in isolation… Existence is conditional, connected – “this being, that becomes” – we are but seeds, blossoming thanks to the grace of those around us: 

Who water us, shelter us, who continue to shine bright in our small corner of the sky… 

There’s a peaceful eternity here, something deep and perennial. Our seeds blossom from the flowers of those before us. Not only do we plant new seeds, but we can offer the fruits of our efforts – these radiant blossoms – to those who’ve nurtured us; who’ve fostered the growth and brilliance we’ve become. 

Who’ve helped us spread our wings… 

My foray into music journalism didn’t begin here with ‘Sidenotes’ – it didn’t even begin in Maine… 

My journey as a writer, pundit, and journalist has been one of sheer grit and determination – wielding the diamond chisel of passion to carve myself a path amidst the towering cliffs of unknown. 

I first began writing for fun, for pleasure – in need of a portfolio and something to share with the wild world around me – a jungle of voices and media and machete opinions, none of which left a lasting impression… This spirited approach soon led me to the global market, where I wrote for an Australian publication, WALL OF SOUND, covering rock, metal, and alternative music. The practice was beneficial, the subjects – scrumptious – but the scope? Limiting… I couldn’t connect with editors sixteen hours ahead; couldn’t stand being sick with envy as I covered bands a world away. I wanted to feel, smell, and hear the music I was writing about… I craved to see musicians in action – for the words I scratched to come alive, to leap off the page and take the stage.   

As active as I was in my academic quarantine of Bates College [and a few frames of central Maine] – I was ignorant of the music unfolding around me – oblivious to the rich, opal hues of Maine music. A selfish headlamp illuminated my own endeavors, but how my efforts fit into something greater – 

Of that, I had no idea, and happily so. 

Everything changed when I graduated and returned home to Falmouth, hungrier than ever to explore this nest of pines and plunging coast that reared me. The heartbeat of the blue Atlantic was the soundtrack to my life… And my music – a testimony; a prayer. 

Who else felt this way? Who else awoke with high tide in their mind, swift and blue – washing away the silt of life? 

My own experience was deep, vast – dating back nearly a decade:

Teenage spirit that germinated in the dive bars of Old Orchard, vestigial organs of high school metal bands, tears staining the floor of Port City Music Hall… 

I was the cicada – buried deep in a womb of blanket earth, biding my time… Maine music coursed through my bones, penetrating every cell.. It was time to resurface… Time to carry the torch… 

*** 

 Paul Gauer is a Maine man: father, husband, musician, writer… 

Founder of the esteemed blog, Mainebrews N’ Musicreviews, Paul has a unique knack for living in Maine towns that boast some derivative of ‘water’ in the name… Between 2019 – 2020, he reprised his role as a music journalist, leaving behind the pages of the legendary FACE Magazine in favor of your Facebook feed: 

“’I always found it disheartening that an artist had to send their music out to strangers to be reviewed. One day I thought, “what if the reviewer found YOU? 

With my new philosophy and element of ‘surprising artists with reviews,’ I started writing again for the first time since 1996. The same writers had been covering local music for decades, and I figured there was room for one more. My one rule: no self-promotion. You must not write about your own musical project(s) –  this space was for lifting others up. Maine artists were starving for recognition (still are), and soon my email began blowing up with requests. I tried to accommodate everyone, and the page exploded…’” 

Our currents first crossed in the wheat-gold spring of 2023 – 

I was curious about writing more, getting involved on a grassroots level – and the universe seemed to agree. Mainebrews covered a new release I had nothing to do with, but was lucky to be mentioned by association – so I reached out on a whim, and asked about opportunities to supplement the blog. It was a hipshot, blue-collar affair – reviews penned between sips of ostentatious IPA’s, a yin and yang that embodied Maine’s accessible, artisanal culture. Paul challenged me to cover a fresh release by the soft-spoken rock group, Matriarch… After a week of procrastination, digging, and small diligence – I had something to share. Kindred spirits, he took me under his wing, soaring high on passion and pursuit… A fantastic drummer and writer of his own, I’d found a path that was well-lit – unobstructed by doldrums or timid haze. Before long, I had reclaimed my heavy-metal heart, penning a new music column: THE CHOPPING BLOCK; and a concert review: THE GUILLOTINE. 

The politics of Maine music are complex and varied, and I soon found myself covering Portland planning board meetings, community festivals, and beyond. 

By the time January 2025 came around, and my first issue of ‘Sidenotes’ rolled off the press – I was an amalgam of the studio, the stage, and so much more – turning my sunflower head toward the sky, planting seeds wherever I could. 

Thank you all for a wonderful year, 

Thomas,

xoxo