It's a bone chilling Sunday afternoon in February of 2008 and I'm sitting in Obie O'Brien's (Bon Jovi's engineer) Chicago hotel room and two-time Oscar winner Barbara Kopple is behind a camera as Obie and I banter back and forth about what makes Bon Jovi tick. The night before I was introduced to Kopple to discuss a few ideas about the film she was just embarking on and during my interactions with Obie, who granted me a compliment I wouldn't dare repeat, she smiled and said she wanted to get us on camera the next day. What was supposed to be a swift and rapid thirty-minute interview evolved into over four-hours. The camera was on me for a long time as I ranted and raved about the band that introduced me to music, made me look to their influences so I could appreciate the greater scope of rock n' roll, grew up with me, has comforted me, disgruntled me and ultimately is one of only a handful of artists that are truly part of my life. I talked about everything; the highs, the lows, the members and most importantly their music. I gave Kopple a history of Bon Jovi, spewing forth hip anecdotes and giving insight and perspective into why they merit more critical respect than they get. I even found a way to poetically compare Martin Scorsese's Raging Bull to the "Wanted Dead or Alive" video; how 'bout them apples? More importantly, I made them "sound cool" (end of shameless Almost Famous references) while simultaneously being all too human as well. What made the interview go from thirty-minutes to over four hours was when we came to the subject of These Days.

I started talking about how "These Days is the best Bruce Springsteen record of the 1990's that Springsteen didn't make." Bon Jovi made a record as revitalizing, filled with prayers and heals the soul like the best Springsteen and Dylan records. Bon Jovi's 1995 reflective and somberThese Days is a record that would be hailed as a masterwork only if it had been created by anyother artist on the planet. Not only did I think it was the band's finest record to date, it spoke to me in a way no other piece of vinyl with a hole in the middle (or CD/cassette) ever did. There are records you encounter in your life that you listen to because you want to and then there are others you listen to because you need to. Over a two year period, I must have given away two or three dozen copies to friends and bought every international version I could get my hands on because These Days was an existential thematic magnum opus that would enhance their lives like a distinguished book or film. Even though each version of the record may have only contained a few bonus tracks, I always started from track one, "Hey God" and allowed it to unfold into my psyche. After a while, I realized that every time I listened to it or found a cool b-side associated with the record, it healed me.

My life during the time of this record's release was full of questions and an overriding sense of being very alone. I had my own cross to bear, I honestly (and very stupidly) believed that I had to drown myself in misery before I could rise above it all. When Jon Bon Jovi sung the lyric, "I guess I'd rather die than fade away", it felt like he summed up my existence to a "t". This was the lyric that entered my head when Kopple was interviewing me about the record. She has a unique gift of allowing people to drop their guard in front of the camera. If you have seen The Dixie Chicks: Shut Up and Sing film from 2006 and the scene at the end of the film where fiddle player Martie Maguire breaks down, you know exactly where I am coming from. I shared things with Kopple that I wouldn't ever dream of with a stranger over dinner let alone someone I met for the first time twenty-four hours earlier. She put me at such ease, that I let my motor mouth flow and my emotions to carry me away. As I was talking about the record, at some point she asked me to clarify why it meant so much to me and all I remember is I grew nauseous, became lightheaded, a bit red around the eyes and when I opened my mouth, there were no words. As I began to stutter, she stood behind the camera and began to drill and coax me, "Don't stop, keep going, tell me why you feel this way, what happened in your life, what was going on?" and that little bit of coaching was all I needed as for the next few minutes I unloaded in a way I am not sure I ever have before. I've always found myself to be a tad more emotive than your average person and I think during my trying years, I held a lot in, this was probably my way of letting it go once and for all. Even though I was in a radically altered place at the time of the interview than I had been a decade earlier, she touched a nerve and in short, I lost it. My wife looked on and saw me open up about a time she knew about but never fully realized scarred me as much as it did until this moment. What I do remember vividly is that somehow, I managed to make sense of how emotions come into play, the themes of the These Days record and how, even when the band disappoints me, I reflect back to how that record saved my life. It made me feel like I wasn't isolated and that there was hope out there. I've never been one to conceal my emotions, I wear my heart on my sleeve, but the levels of revelation I gave to her was unparalleled. When I finally stopped my vocal convulsing, Kopple sat behind the camera with her hands pressed firmly on either side of her head and only removed them to wipe away a few tears. Now, let me make one thing clear, not even if you forced me to smoke a joint the of a steroid size A-Rod, did I ever think that one second of that footage would have wound up in the finished film, even if the band had not switched the direction of the film and directors. There's a part of me that is semi-thankful as I know that footage of me is buried forever because I think I probably came off as an unhinged fan. But on the other hand, I've learned that I have nothing to be ashamed of, because that is who I am and the shedding of skin was cleansing.

Thinking back to that time in my life, I can't help but recall the cloud that seemed to follow me anywhere and everywhere. My experience isn't distinctive or all that dissimilar than most other people, but music was my saving grace and in it, I lost myself. For some it's a needle, others it's a bottle, but for me, I needed something to coerce me to look inward and concede that not only am I fortunate, but that I often hold the keys to my own cage. We all encounter experiences in our life that leave us feeling less than whole, but the answer is to rise above it all and open yourself to love again. Eventually, I had to pick myself up, put my faith back in people. I would be lying to you if I told you that everyone welcomed this, but regardless, eventually I found the right person who did. Maybe there is a higher power making moves on a chess board for us in the chance we travel down that undiscovered path or that we take a risk and give our heart to someone after it's been decimated. The bravest human trait is the admission of emotional vulnerability because it is only when you allow someone else to see you at your worse will you truly allow yourself to be loved. I think this is why I bought a few dozen copies for friends during its initial release. It was my way to trying to converse with them because we live in a culture where most of us submerge our emotions. Rarely did anyone ever mention on the gift after I gave it them, except once. It was 1999 and a friend came to me at a party and cornered me and said, "I listened to These Days and Stranger In This Town today�I wish you would have talked to me back then". Granted, my friend was about six hours into an inebriated state, but the fact that he sat with each record and listened to them song by song blew my mind. For the next few hours, we did talk, about everything I was going through during that time and how I came through the storm.

Art can be a drug for our pain, an answer to a prayer and a tonic to our tragedy. In a world filled with a lot of spitefulness, it reminds us that there is something to grasp onto. It helps us make sense of the turmoil. Whenever people tell me about below the belt entertainment (Reality TV show, horror films, Creed), I appreciate where they are coming from, we are all entitled to mindless and numbing amusement and I indulge in this as well. There's nothing wrong with it, but occasionally people scoff at this, not because they don't get it, but they feel your time would be better served by engaging with a piece of art that elevates the spirit. I remember once having a conversation with Roger Ebert and he told me that the reason some of his reviews were brutal because there are so many remarkable films in the world full of life and enlightenment that he couldn't imagine anyone messing with a ninety-minute piece of fluff that no one would remember the second the film was over. Illustrious art makes you feel and has the ability to alter you as a person and there's a lot of it out there, we just sometimes have to take off the blinders and be open to it. At some point in my wallowing, I thought of the fine line of optimism that is in a handful of the songs on These Days and realized that no one is going to better my life other than myself. You hear about people talking about how the albums of Peter Gabriel, the Beatles, Pearl Jam, the Replacements and dozens of other acts that save lives, These Days didn't just save it, it changed it�for the better.

When you listen to a record or see an artist in concert, one of the most essential needs is to make the audience believe in your art. Can they relate to your experience, your ache, your bliss, and your inner thoughts? Between 1992 and 1996, no one did this better for me than Bon Jovi. In the songs "These Days", "Something to Believe In" and "If That's What It Takes" the characters take chances, wear their hearts on their sleeves and attempt to find consolation in people. A better tomorrow can be found by being vulnerable; laying it on the line, sharing your life story with someone, expressing gratitude and love. All of this involves taking a gamble because ultimately, only the loftiest of rewards are discovered through immense risks. Good records take you away for a few hours, but great records, like These Days permeate your life with change, force you to look hard n the mirror and transform. Those who don't love music, well they don't get it and I don't expect them to get it. Only we can take the necessary steps forward to adjust course, but we sometimes need a guide, a hand to hold onto and a companion who feels your pain, is a shoulder to cry on and encompasses you like a hug when no one else will. These Days did this for me and for that reason alone Bon Jovi will forever have a chapter in the story of my life.