Like college-aged kids the world over, most of them were extraordinarily interested in music. We were no different. The apartment I shared with a couple of other guys on Pratt avenue became a sort of hub for listening to weird music, watching strange independent movies, smoking what in retrospect seems like a never-ending tsunami of cigarettes, and indulging in the most popular iniquities available. Nothing too crazy, just the usual booze and such for the most part. There are some great stories from those days.

I can't remember who brought it over, but one afternoon somebody put on a Sly and the Family Stone record. Most of the time when you consider these moments in retrospect, you tend to exaggerate how you reacted at the time to something that would later turn out to be important. But I remember quite clearly that upon our very first listen we freaked the hell out. It was so... perfect. I mean, each song had huge, glaring imperfections, but somehow they came together to form something much greater than the sum of it's parts. We fell in love with it, and spent the better part of the next ten years trying to figure out how to do what Sly had done so seemingly effortlessly back in the 70's.

Our timing was very good. It just so happens that the whole country had gotten into a 70's retro phase around then, and as a result we were able to book shows around town without too much trouble even though we were just terrible back then. None of us really knew how to play yet, and we lacked the experience to understand that being sloppy is only cool when you are able to project to the audience that you could have done it right if you had wanted to. It took us some years to hone the music into what we were hoping for, but the audiences we encountered were very forgiving, and in time we got the hang of it.

We began traveling. It turned out that there were a lot of clubs all over the midwest that really enjoyed what we were doing. Many folks wanted to dance, and we provided an alternative to the Alternative bands that were moping their way across the country, leaving everybody feeling so-so. 70's retro had made way for indecisive ennui in the public forum, but for some reason the crowds gave us a pass. Except for Rockford. They freakin' hated us in Rockford.

When we finally made it all the way out to New York it worked out so well that we've tried to get back at least once a year since, even though the drive has almost killed us all on a couple of occasions, most notably in an incident involving a heavy trailer and black ice. It's amazing we didn't all die. Instead, except for a few bumps and bruises, all was well. We even finished the tour.

As our name got out there, we started to get offered some really great shows. At one point we got the chance to open for Maceo Parker. For those unfamiliar, he was James Brown's saxophonist for many years, and he's without question one of the funkiest men alive. He invited us up to dance on stage with him at the show, which we did, so whatever else happens I can die a happy man. Other folks we've had the wonderful luck to open for along the way have been (in no particular order): War (yes, they played lowrider), the Roots (?uestlove is even better live), Dr. John (at House of Blues, which was tons of fun), Jurrasic 5 (before we knew who they were actually, and boy did they rock), and just recently in the summer of '08 we were on a bill with the one and only Bob Dylan at the Aspen Snowmass Jazz Festival. To my knowledge, there is no jazz at that jazz festival, by the way. But as festivals go, and we've played a ton of them all across the country, I can safely say it rules.