From Fruity Pebbles to Raisin Bran — how music grows up with us

A while back in the 1990s, I was sitting in a boardroom at the Capitol Records headquarters in Los Angeles. The president of the record label, Andy Slater, asked the group sitting around the table what their favorite band was.

What a question. I ask our staff that same question for team-building exercises once a year or so to see what people have to say. It is always a fascinating look into someone, and yes, I have to look up half the modern answers. But that is the cycle: our favorite band and overall taste in music shift as life does, and then shift back again.

A wonderful analogy for music is cereal. Have you tried a bowl of Fruity Pebbles lately? While they might have been the best thing going in 1986. In 2026, they taste more like sugar dirt.

Perhaps Quiet Riot is the music equivalent of Fruity Pebbles for me, or more likely Winger; it just does not hold up. But wow, that Metal Health cassette was my proudest possession once upon a time.

I have been spinning around on the earth long enough to have gone through four media for listening to music. I started on cassettes, 12 for a penny in fact, then compact discs, then streaming, and most recently vinyl. Some of you, slightly older than me, might have that in a different order, but discovering vinyl later in life has changed the game and put music back into serious hobby and collector mode for me. While streaming has its place, records are where it is at. The stories alone on Blue Note jazz label releases are just awesome on LPs.

Music is all about time and perspective. The sounds, smells, sights, the when, the whom, and the where are magical. Discovering an artist 30 years ago in the basement of a fraternity house, for example, in front of a rowdy crowd of 200 fratters and their guests, is going to leave a mark. The first time I heard the Dave Matthews Band was at the Sigma Chi house at UGA in Athens, Georgia. My friend Cameron insisted we go see them; he said it was awesome, and he was not wrong.

The first album, just added to the vinyl collection, still takes me back there, along with their tour of small clubs in Florida the next year. We caught them at the Covered Dish in Gainesville, The Ritz in Tampa, and many other Florida spots, and we even caught up with them in Europe the following Summer. Dave and the gang hung out with us after the shows, too. Pretty epic. Then they got huge.

Musical discovery is eternal and infinite. There is always another show, another band to “discover.” You do not have to be 21 to do so, either, nor do they have to be an up-and-coming artist. While I am certainly cemented in many genres and have a very “get off my lawn” attitude about music, I recently put on my open-minded hat, and wow, did I unwrap the musical equivalent of the Star Wars Millennium Falcon gift at Christmas, age 10.

I was 50 years old when I discovered the awesomeness of the Flaming Lips. It was spring 2024 in Tallahassee; they were the headliners at Word of South, and we went up front to check them out. Mind blown, sonically and visually. It was a festival of celebratory tunes that shifted gears to soul-searching in the blink of an eye.

The lyrics to “Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots” are about, well, just what the song says, while “Do You Realize” is a stark reminder that the marathon of life has a finish line: “Do you realize that everyone you know someday will die?” Wayne and that band have tapped into something that goes beyond words.

Their tunes are a Mardi Gras of groove, and if you have not seen them, you should. Bonus: at their shows, there are also huge inflatable robots and confetti cannons. It is a win-win-win.

Back to the boardroom at the corner of Hollywood and Vine. When it was my turn to name my favorite band, I said the Allman Brothers. They were and are my band, along with Mötley Crüe, GNR, the Grateful Dead, and others.

They are the Raisin Bran of rock and roll; unlike Fruity Pebbles, Raisin Bran still tastes excellent.

I got to see them at their peak, one of their peaks. In the mid-90s, they released a monster of an album, “Back Where It All Begins,” and when they hit the road, they played just about all of it live. They did not rely on their impressive catalog of hits; they played the new stuff, and those songs became hits. When they hit Gainesville for an outdoor show at the Bandshell, it was magical, and getting to meet Gregg Allman and company post-show was maybe the coolest artist meet-and-greet ever.

Musical commonality is awesome. At the tail end of our last podcast, I asked real estate guru Daniel Wagnon what his favorite concert was, and he said the Allman Brothers. He had a connection with their road crew member, Redd Dog, who is quite the legend. Funny enough, he mentioned his runner-up was Mötley Crüe from the “Girls, Girls, Girls” tour. I paused for a second, as he was from Albany, and I asked if he had seen them there in 1987. He said yes, and I said, “With Guns N’ Roses opening?” He said yes. I was there too. Mom had let me and Quinn Borland head over from Dothan to see the show on a school night, with Leisha Borland in charge of us. We were in sixth grade or so.

An evening that changed it all, as discovering Motley and Guns live on the same night was just wow. The spinning drums. Wow. Commercial real estate and skateboarding with Daniel Wagnon.

Speaking of grateful, when I discovered the Dead in the 1990s, it was very much a Jerry Garcia-centric experience, so seeing Dead and Company on their final Sphere residency was a chance to rediscover all things Bob Weir. Jeanne and I were in the front row of the balcony, so we did not miss anything in that divine palace of an arena. What a performance. He dominated. He brought something to those songs that I had never heard before. His supporting cast of Mickey Hart, Oteil Burbridge, and John Mayer did their part, but it was Bob’s band. Bob’s show. Bob is the terminator of jam bands. He was in the first jam band, and everyone else out there is just following the path he paved.

Long live Bob Weir. For me, every silver lining these days has a touch of grey, and I am more grateful for the music every time I put a record on. Collecting vinyl has been the perfect hobby, and having that tangible aspect to music has brought back something that was lost. From the boardroom to the frat house to the Sphere, from youth to present day, to all those who set out on a career in music, to all those who create and play the tunes that put the icing on the cake of life, thank you. From the Fruity Pebbles of bands to the Raisin Bran, you all have your place, and we are thankful and grateful for the shows, albums, and the memories shared.

There is a road, no simple highway, between the dawn and the dark of night.