Amazed by the fast progress of our production value, I spent a considerable amount of time combing through old footage that could be used in marketing material moving forward. I come across footage from the night of my Gizzi’s on-stage meltdown. Before taking the stage myself, I had cameras rolling, capturing the performances of every guest who graced the microphone. Among them, my brother Angel would perform a spoken word piece that had been originally written as a song. His evolution from early gangster rap to crafting the most elegant and informative rhyme schemes was a process only visible to those around for the entirety of the journey. I took pleasure in this and watched him in awe. With a relaxed demeanor and all the confidence of memorization and beer, he would rise to the occasion and impress every patron and passerby. He was no stranger to the Gizzi’s stage, and his willingness to share himself was worth more than the price of the camera. As I watched alone, in my living room, I make the mistake of sharing my thoughts on the video, adding an additional layer of time between the viewer and the performance. I would pay for this error in judgment by immediately throwing up after recording. The nausea I displayed on camera, caused by a cocktail of beer and protein powder, would be clearly visible to me, as I was in the know. But my hunger for success made me say “fuck it”, and before I knew it, I had posted the video anyway, which over time has ultimately proven to have been the correct decision.
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