“Maybe No One Cares (But We’re Doing It Anyway)”
It all begins with an idea.
By Rob Ash
I’m not sure how many people want new music from a guy in his early 50s who used to scream his lungs out in a loud AF metal band you probably never heard of. But we’re making it anyway.
It’s called The Finish Line. It’s not a comeback. It’s just where the songs went when I stopped trying to ignore them.
Over the last ten years, my friend Dave Gutter and I have quietly been sending each other song fragments—riffs, vocal ideas, bits and pieces—over email. Nothing flashy, just two people trying to keep the spark alive between work, parenting, and the mess of life. We wrote what we could when we could. And for a while, that was enough.
But something shifted for me in the last couple of years.
In late 2023, I decided to reconnect with my straight edge roots and cut alcohol out of my life completely. That decision cracked something open. By February of 2024, it turned into a full-blown personal renaissance. I started studying guitar and music theory in a way I never had—practicing every day, grinding fundamentals, chasing the actual craft instead of just the feeling. And it started to feel good. Not forced. Just... honest.
That’s when I asked Shane Kinney if he’d want to make music again. I know how insane his schedule is—he’s built the world’s largest resource for drummers looking for top-tier gear. So when he said yes, it meant a lot. It helped me believe this thing could be real.
And over that same time, even with his own insane workload, Ray Suhy and I had been reconnecting musically. Studying music together, bouncing ideas, talking about theory and phrasing and tones and Freddy King or shoegaze songs. We’ve always had that connection, but this was deeper. And at some point, the conversation shifted from studying music to making it again.
We’re not the new kids. We’re not trying to be.
We’re recording our debut as The Finish Line this May with Jonathan Wyman, who tracked the earliest Colepitz records. He knows how to get what’s real. And these songs—some of them have been developing for almost two years. There’s weight in them. Hard work. Every member of this band is showing up sharper than ever, and it’s pretty damn cool to see it coming together.
We’ve been sending songs back and forth between the digital home studios of Ray, Shane, and me—laying down riffs, drum grooves, vocal sketches—pulling in bones and structure, working ideas until they feel right. It’s been a slow burn. But the right kind. I’m learning not to hate everything I make these days—and that’s a new feeling. A good one.
That said, I’d be lying if I told you I don’t think about whether this music even matters to anyone anymore.
“Does anyone care?”
“Will this get scrolled past?”
“Am I just being self-important thinking this has a place in 2025?”
Because now, everything’s short-form, phone-first, algorithm-driven. And I get it. But I also know how it feels to stand in a room and hear something that doesn’t need anyone’s approval. Something that hits you in the gut and says, this is what we’re supposed to do.
That’s what this is.
And while we’re here—I want to say something about the name Rob Ash. People who know me personally know that I’ve planned releasing music under that name too. Maybe some AIC Sap style acoustic songs here or there. It’s not a character or alter ego—it’s just me. But I want to keep it separate from the business world I live in during the day. I’m proud of the community work I do, and I have sacrificed a lot professionally over the last 5 years to serve the greater good. I care deeply about the nonprofits I am employed by and support them completely. But Rob Ash is for the music. It’s for the part of me that never stopped needing this. And I have a lot to say that isn't just Colepitz or The Finish Line. There's more coming.
So yeah—maybe no one cares.
But that’s never been the reason to do it.
We’re recording in May.
We’re not chasing relevance.
We’re chasing an inner need that doesn’t recognize age or care about likes.
Thanks for reading. Thanks for listening. And if you’ve ever felt that tension—between who you used to be and who you still might be—you’re not alone.
LEMMY RULES
– Rob