I have a friend. But I didn’t always call him friend. We were only preteens back home in suburban Atlanta in the days when we might have shared a Georgia history book, a homeroom teacher and the occasional bathroom hall pass. My only real memory of him is from 9th grade, and it involves a ratty beanie and a too-big-for-his-frame Starter jacket. He sat behind me in economics. Or was it algebra? And I don’t remember if we ever spoke directly to each other. Which is why I never knew he was hiding an immense talent underneath that heavy coat.

I have another friend from those days, one who I’ve shared a lifetime of memories and dreams and laughter and heartache with over the years. Once upon a time in New York, these two friends met, fell in love, rode the subway, drank some wine, met a red panda, fell apart but not out of love, danced in the dark, tried to forget each other and remembered why they fell in love in the first place.

And that’s how I met my friend Ron Pope, who was only a name and a black-and-white photo in a dusty yearbook until a March trip to the city. I watched him hold my friend’s hand. I listened to him sing and captivate an audience. Wield a guitar. I helped him eat some unforgettable Greek food. I thought about how his story would read in Rolling Stone. How I might write it.

Last week, something happened. Radio stations in Detroit, Denver and Madison, Wisconsin, started playing his music. He’s already sold a zillion an unreasonably large number of songs on itunes and has been featured on MTV. But this seemed like … the start of something more. Like crying 15 year olds, VH1 Storytellers and the Grammys.

So, man the phones! Get on the horn! Call your local radio station! Request “A Drop in the Ocean” by my friend Ron Pope! Maybe it will get you off my shit list. [Don’t fool yourself. You’re still on it.] And don’t be alarmed. I also think he looks AND sounds like Rob Thomas + John Mayer’s love child.

This may not be Rolling Stone, but it’s all I’ve got. For now.

Sincerely,

Sally B.