Photo In the studio with Justin working on more music at Waysound Studio. 

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I didn’t find music.
Music found me…and waited.

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I grew up in a haunted house where sound wasn’t background; besides the ghosts, it was also a presence.

 

In 1972, my dad brought home a quadraphonic stereo system. Cool brown cabinets, an 8 track player, record player, radio and 4 large wired speakers. Music didn’t just play; it surrounded you. It moved through the walls, through your body. My mom had been a singer in her teenage years, traveling the country as part of a triplet act. She was offered a record contract…and turned it down to become a flight attendant with TWA and see the world. My sister and I would sing with her growing up. 

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So before I ever chose music…
Music had already chosen me.

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I sang along to the Jackson 5.
Puff the Magic Dragon.
and together we sang Rhinestone Cowboy by Glen Campbell and I write the song by Barry Manilow. 

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Then my dad handed me Band on the Run by Paul McCartney and Wings.

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That was the spark.

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In high school, I wanted in...but I was locked out.

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No bands. No invites. No stage.

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So I created my own way in. Helping friends. Hosting parties. Letting bands play in my house. Standing on the outside; but feeling every note like it was already mine. Air jamming when that was a thing, not as a joke…but because something in me needed to perform.

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Then came the concerts:

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The Village People
The Police
The Go-Go’s

 

And then:

 

AC/DC

 

That wasn’t music. That was ignition.

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That was the moment something inside me said: This is it.

 

I met them. More than once. Real conversations. Real moments.
And in 1986, at Poplar Creek Music Theater…I walked on stage with them.

 

Dressed as Angus Young.
Part of their show during “Who Made Who.”

 

A kid who couldn’t get into a band…standing under the lights with the band that defined him.

 

That moment never left me.

 

I went after it in college, studying piano, voice, guitar. Art. Psychology. Trying to build something real.

 

Then life stepped in.

 

A football injury broke my fingers.
Playing became difficult.
Singing became something I pulled away from after one moment on stage that shut me down.

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So I walked away from music.

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But it never walked away from me.

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In 2010 to 2012, something strange happened.

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At the haunted Belvoir Winery, out of nowhere, I found myself humming…then singing…an old blues slave song. Not something I had been listening to. Not something I had studied. It just came through me.

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Raw. Haunting. Repetitive.
Like something carried through time.

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And it stayed with me.

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I didn’t understand it then, but I do now.

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In 2014, I tried to bring it back to life.

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I wrote “Ghosts Don’t Die” and recorded it with Johnny Ricco and producer Rob Deaner.

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It was supposed to be the beginning.

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A show. A platform. A launch.

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Then one decision killed it.

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And everything collapsed with it.

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Johnny and I kept creating (instrumentals, ideas for TV) but nothing ever landed. No doors opened.

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The dream didn’t explode.

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It just…faded.

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Years later, in 2022, I started experimenting again; quietly, casually using Udio.

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Revisiting old lyrics. Old ideas.

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But it still wasn’t real.

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Not yet.

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Then cancer came.

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And everything became real.

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In the hospital at Northwestern Medicine, during chemotherapy…I lost my cat, Noir.

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And something inside me broke open.

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I wrote “Will I Ever Hold Your Paw Again” in two days.

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Weak. Exhausted. Destroyed.

But writing it…gave me something back.

 

Breath.
Strength.
Purpose.

 

Then I remembered the voice.

 

Lying in that same hospital bed, staring at the ceiling, I heard it...clear as anything.

 

A voice I had heard before.

 

It asked:

“If there was one thing you could do in this life…that you haven’t done yet…what would it be?”

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I answered:

“Music. I want to create music for the world to hear.”

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And then it was gone.

 

Just silence.

 

I even laughed from the silence, "Too big of an answer?"

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The silence remained.

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Days later...Noir was gone.

 

And the flood came.

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I didn’t start writing.

 

I unleashed.

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Songs came fast. Relentless. Like something had been waiting years, decades...for permission.

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I wrote in bed.
On the couch.
In hospital rooms.
At my kitchen table.

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Every place became sacred ground.

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Because it wasn’t about where I was.

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It was about what was coming through me.

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The blues I heard years earlier…came back.

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That haunting, repetitive, almost trance-like sound, like voices carried through time, became part of the foundation of this album.

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And it merged with everything else that built me.

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AC/DC
The raw power, the simplicity, the melodic punch.

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Blondie — Call Me, Heart of Glass
That rhythm, that vocal edge between worlds.

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The Village People
Energy. The Beats. Movement. Dance. Performance.

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Jeff Wayne's Musical Version of The War of the Worlds
Storytelling through sound; cinematic, immersive, alive.

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The Blues Brothers
Soul. Rhythm. Spirit moving through music.

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Another Brick in the Wall
Rebellion. Atmosphere. Childrens Chorus. The Message.

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And even modern influence (like the film Sinners) tapping into the supernatural, darkness, consequence, and human struggle.

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And then there’s the juke joint. That got me! 

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That dirty, alive, spiritual, foot-stomping energy; six soulful songs on this album come straight from that place. A place where pain, joy, spirits, and music all exist in the same room.

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I learned during those dark and lonely nights on my couch:  When the dead don't speak, they sing! 

 

This album isn’t just songs:  It’s a collection.

 

A soulful transmission. A spiritual collective collaboration from what I felt those nights. Surrounded by souls who wanted to create into this reality. 

 

A body of work built from paranormal, supernatural, and spiritual experiences, woven together with real emotion, real pain, real memory. Lyrics covering:

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Ghosts.
Spirits.
Hauntings.
Communication beyond death.
Loss.
Love.
Survival.
Ascension.

 

Because when your back is against the wall…

 

You don’t create safe things.

 

You create truth when you are down. With prayer and expression. 

 

I’m still recovering. 

 

Still weak.
Still exhausted.
Still dealing with pain, neuropathy, brain fog.

Still got the blues. 

 

There isn’t much joy.

 

Except this.

 

The music. Writing, creating. 

 

And the time I have with my three remaining cats…after losing Noir. 

 

It’s just us.

 

And the sound. My god the beautiful sound. The voices, the rhythms. 

 

I never thought I would do this.

 

But something opened.

 

And it hasn’t closed.

 

This is Boogie Man Blues.

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A concept album born from survival.
From memory. 
From something deeper than I can fully explain.

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Like a story whispered in the dark…
And voices that refuse to stay buried.

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What happens next?

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That’s not fully up to me.

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That’s in God’s hands.

 

Maybe that voice.

 

Maybe something more.

 

And maybe…

 

In yours.

 

If this reaches you, if you feel it, if you hear something in it that you can’t explain…

You begin to sing, to stomp, to smile. 

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Then you already understand.

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And your support helps me keep going.

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Because I have much more. Much more in music to give, including current talks of musical collaborations with several known musicians. Maybe dreams come true?

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With angels, the future looks bright.

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So, to honor my spiritual friends, the many souls from the past...

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Let's Sing It Now!

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- Christopher Fleming on May 3, 2026