Through music you learn not to care about the color of someone's skin.

The devaluation of music and what it's now deemed to be worth is laughable to me. My single costs 99 cents. That's what a single cost in 1960. On my phone, I can get an app for 99 cents that makes fart noises - the same price as the thing I create and speak to the world with. Some would say the fart app is more important. It's an awkward time. Creative brains are being sorely mistreated.

Yes, the companionship is amazing. You know, you can get that physical attraction that happens is great, but then there's an awful lot of time and the rest of the day that you have to fill.

There ain't no future in the past.

When I look back, I don't remember the best of the best. I don't remember arena shows with 20,000 people. I remember funky little bar gigs where nobody shows up. The weirdest of the weird are what you retain.

The real beauty of it - key to my life was playing key chords on a banjo. For somebody else it may be a golf club that mom and dad put in their hands or a baseball or ballet lessons. Real gift to give to me and put it in writing.

Whether I'm making my own record, or playing a guitar part, I want what I do to have an impact.