At a time when anyone from Ridgewood is almost guaranteed to get forkcasted the second he plugs into a fuzz pedal, it is becoming increasingly difficult to separate the town’s truly luminary output from, well…a bunch of slightly lazier artists who figure that if they imitate a certain sound, and make sure that everyone knows they practice in their parents’ basement, they will probably be able to catch the wave. Fortunately, the reality of the situation is usually somewhere in between. My personal take on the Ridgewood craze is that it must feel pretty damn amazing to be living in a place where you and all the kids you used to sneak cigarettes with behind the 711 after school have a good shot at getting recognized for what you work hard at. So while I have never seen the place for myself, I imagine that just having that kind of excitement in the air should be conducive to making good music. After all, if you’re sticking to bare-bones verse-chorus rock n’ roll songs, the amount of true-blue euphoria you are able to transmit to your listeners is often precisely what will make or break your jam.
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