Whether you’re 15 or 55, New Wave is always about adolescence — raw, awkward, and optimistic. It’s the transitional moment before a band goes pop, the shiny day before graduation, the last record before you tell the old guard to get lost. A cousin of punk in that sense: same restlessness, more eyeliner.

New Wave is as wide as it is deep — spanning the polish of Duran Duran to the raw power of Iggy Pop, the minimalism of Eno to the lushness of the Cocteau Twins. Cold Wave, Dark Wave, Synth-Pop, Post-Punk, Goth, Glam — it bends genres to serve its own ends, and bends gender, race, and religion while it’s at it. A momentary safe house for outcasts, geeks, freaks, and anyone still finding their footing.

The first show I ever saw was Simple Minds on their Sparkle in the Rain tour in 1985. With Finnegan, Vorticez, Xopher, and A. Hong as fellow witnesses, it felt like being transported to a parallel universe of enveloping bass, ambience, and crashing drums — a singer channeling Jim Morrison and Lou Reed simultaneously. That night we all shook off the ghosts. Trained since age six as a classical pianist, I’d never had a musical innocence. Early records like Animus, Resonance, and Statik 1 reach for maturity. It wasn’t until later — Statik 2, 16:16, B3ND3R — that I fully embraced the newness of New Wave. The awkward self-discovery of adolescence, it turns out, isn’t a step back. It’s a step forward.