Willow Martin

We all got a story. It would undoubtedly be fun to claim I discovered my passion for music when I first laid eyes on a basoon, or when I used 47 smashed up iPods in an art project. Sadly, or happily, (depends on the eyes looking); neither is the case. I remember truly loving music for the first time. I was 4 years old, riding in the back seat of my dad's old Toyota, listening to children's tapes. I felt utterly and mysteriously happy as the pounding rhythms stirred a joy I'd never felt before. Yes, there are a few million other people out there with similar experiences. Who cares? We had a blast, right?Nowadays, the worn out tapes have gone down the highway. Along with the Toyota. And I'm strolling around the ragged alleys of Oslo, looking for.... well, it depends. Fresh oranges, a good moccha, life, love...the works. Hidden treasures are all around us. We just gotta open up our eyes. And whistle a tune or two as we go.