Here's the epigraph.
Life is about love, last minutes and lost evenings,
About fire in our bellies and about furtive little feelings,
And the aching amplitudes that set our needles all a-flickering,
They help us with remembering that the only thing that's left to do is live.
It's lyrics from "I Knew Prufrock Before He Got Famous" by Frank Turner and it works perfectly perfect perfect at the beginning of a memoir about music. It also works perfectly perfect perfect as a song that's sung slash yelled from a stage under cheap white Christmas lights.