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Jonny pressed the strings of his guitar with an intensity that seemed to want to tear them apart. The notes came out raw, imperfect, but full of an energy that made the walls of the garage where he rehearsed with his band reverberate. From a very young age, he had decided he was going to be a rock star. Not just any star, but one of those that leave their mark, the kind that fills stadiums and takes nightlife by storm. He knew he had talent, or at least that's what his friends kept telling him after every rehearsal when they saw him move with a confidence that made him stand out from the rest. There was something special about him, yes, something that set him apart.

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At first, Jonny played with genuine passion, letting the music speak for him. But, over time, that passion was replaced by an obsession with fame. Every time he went on stage, he cared more about the image he projected than the music itself. He would spend hours picking out his clothes, adjusting his studded leather jacket and making sure the dark glasses he wore, even at night, reflected the right lights. The band noticed the change, but they didn't say anything, they knew his flamboyance attracted an audience, and Jonny knew it too. One day, after one of their first gigs to a packed house, Jonny looked at his bandmates and said with a confident smile, “We're going to be big. But we have to do things my way.” No one argued at the time. Maybe they thought Jonny's confidence would carry them away, or maybe they just didn't want to face him.

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The first signs of conflict arose when Jonny started improvising longer guitar solos in the middle of songs, deviating from the agreed setlist. At first, his bandmates took it in stride, but it became increasingly clear that he wasn't playing for them, or even for the audience. He was playing for himself, always looking for the moment to steal the spotlight. Arguments at rehearsals became more frequent. “You can't do that every time you feel like it,” Dani, the bass player, told him one afternoon after a chaotic rehearsal. “This isn't just your show.” Jonny smiled and shrugged. “People come to see me, Dani. If you don't understand that, maybe you should rethink why you're in the band.” That dismissive attitude became commonplace. For a while, Jonny's arrogance seemed to work, his shows were packed, his solos were intense, and the audience celebrated with cheers and applause. But the tension kept building. Every time someone in the band tried to suggest a change, Jonny dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “Trust me,” he repeated, ”I know what I'm doing.”

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Then came the night of disaster. At an important gig at a big-name club, Jonny showed up two hours late. His bandmates were nervous, adjusting instruments and arguing in whispers about whether they should start without him. When Jonny showed up, he was wearing a new jacket, even more extravagant than the previous ones, and demanded that they change the order of the songs just before going on stage. No one argued, but the frustration on the band's faces was evident. The concert started badly and only got worse. Halfway through the first song, Jonny decided to improvise another solo, completely ignoring his bandmates who looked on in despair. But this time, something went wrong. His amp failed at the key moment, and in a fit of rage, Jonny threw the guitar on the floor and left the stage. The band tried to continue, but everything fell apart. The audience fell silent, confused, and slowly began to leave. That night, after the disaster, Jonny locked himself in his room, alone with his thoughts. As the rage faded, reality began to hit him. He received messages from his bandmates announcing the dissolution of the band, but the worst was when Dani, who had been his friend from the beginning, wrote him one last message: “This all could have been different. The music was the only thing that mattered.” That sentence haunted him for days.

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Jonny tried to keep up the façade of a rebel star for a while, but clubs no longer wanted to sign him. The fame he had built on flamboyance was crumbling, and loneliness settled into his life. He left the guitar gathering dust as he took refuge in the music of his old idols, trying to remember what had inspired him to play in the first place. He began to notice how, in his favorite songs, simplicity and sincerity conveyed more than any elaborate solo or extravagant attire. One night, in the middle of that silence, he received an unexpected call. It was an old friend working as a producer in a small studio. He offered him to record something, with no expectations, just for the pleasure of playing. Jonny hesitated, but finally accepted. He played again, this time without worrying about the lights or the audience. It was weird at first, as if his fingers were relearning to feel each chord, but little by little he began to enjoy it.

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He formed a new band, with musicians who shared his renewed vision. This time, there were no shiny jackets or endless solos. Just music. They played small venues, with small but authentic audiences, and though he never filled stadiums or became the star he dreamed of, he knew he had found something more valuable, a sincere love for the music, for what it really was, unadorned and unpretentious. **Credits**: *The images used are free to use and royalty free. They were taken from pixabay.* Original article by **(martinte)**

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