(This is the long-overdue continuation of a multi-part blog entry I began early last year, and would've continued much sooner had it not been for several recent unforeseen and tragic events in my personal life. Part 1 can be read here. I dedicate Part 2 to the memory of Wendy Chioji, who inspired one of my many songs discussed here, and who sadly lost her long battle with cancer in October 2019. Rest in power, Wendy.)
After losing the last available roof over my head in NY/NJ in August 2007, it became obvious to me that there was no further point in trying to stay up there any longer and I should just submit full-throttle to a new life in central Florida... so I did. Mind you, my credibility amongst those who had come to know me there had been given a fairly considerable boost while I'd been away, thanks to a very brief (and highly disillusioning) collaboration I'd undertaken with a certain lo-fi pioneer I honestly didn't even think anyone in Orlando would ever have heard of. I soon learned this enlightenment was in large part due to said artist's associations with Ariel Pink, an artist with a loyal following amongst the Florida folks I'd met. But while this sudden increase in my notoriety in O-Town had given me something to build on (despite my continued desire to ride no one else's coattails in that regard), it still didn't make the idea of starting over yet again seem much easier at first.
During my first stay in Florida, I had written the first songs I would write in my time there. Surely in those difficult early days, I had a lot of time to do so. It was inevitable that these new compositions would reflect my new situation and the things I was finding in Florida, and at first they were totally bitter and negative in nature ("Country Club Prison," "Leesburg Is A Lie") until the experience of seeing Dodger at the Peacock Room finally inspired my first Florida-positive song, "022605" (cryptically named for the date of my Orlando epiphany, February 26, 2005). Soon afterward I would write a second, even more lighthearted tune about a local newscaster named Wendy Chioji who I'd first heard about via the WPRK 100 Hours Marathon and seen on TV a bunch of times since then. One day, while bored out of my mind, I took to attempting to rhyme Miss Chioji's unique surname and came up with enough silly couplets to base some lyrics on, resulting in a song simply named "Wendy Chioji." I had no intention of releasing this song, though... at least not then.
But eight months after I settled into Orlando life, in the spring of 2008, Wendy announced she was retiring from the anchor post she'd held at WESH 2 News for over 20 years. As she'd become a local legend in her time, her announcement sent shockwaves through the city, and it was only then I realized I'd written a song about a true star. That's when the lightbulb went on above my head and I rewrote the song by changing the lyrics into a plea for her not to leave Orlando and expanding its title to "Wendy Chioji Please Don't Goji." Then, on a wild and sudden whim, I posted the song on Myspace and sent notifications to both the Sentinel and Orlando Weekly announcing the song's release.
My crazy-ass scheme worked. Both papers reviewed the song and the resulting attention translated into hundreds of plays. Wendy was even quoted in the Sentinel praising both the song and my singing talent, which I honestly admit made my heart tingle. And as fate would have it, the very first two folks I'd met in Orlando took quick and profound notice of my bold stunt and deemed it worthy of further exposure. Matt Kamm, by then doing business post-Dodger under the name of Tele, offered me my very first live gig in town that July 4th weekend, and Dave Plotkin, Mr. 110 Hours himself, invited me to plug the song on WPRK, promising an on-air, face-to-face meeting with Wendy herself as part of the deal.
Mind you, I had very likely crossed paths with Wendy at the 110 Hours Marathon, on which she had been a live guest, but of course I didn't know a thing about her at the time and so regarded her as just another face in the crowd. I only wish I'd known better back then, for ultimately she was a no-show for my big turn on Plotkin's program. Nonetheless, Dave and I engaged WPRK's listeners for two hours on a show which aired in a prime midweek afternoon drive-time slot. As for my first-ever O-Town gig, on July 5th, 2008 at a brand new dive bar on the Mills 50 strip called Uncle Lou's, I ended up playing to 10 people on a hot, sweaty afternoon in a smoke-filled room on a shitty acoustic guitar, clearly unaccustomed to playing my new songs for any sort of audience, especially one in a city I'd never played before. But by now it was clear a new chapter had begun and I had officially crossed over from the outside to the inside of the Orlando scene. Suddenly my NJ homeland seemed farther away than ever... but that was not such a bad thing anymore.
Sometime just before my '06 move back to NJ, I'd written yet another song... though this one wasn't quite about Florida. I guess you could say it was inspired somewhat by Orlando, as it was written in the afterglow of a visit to Will's Pub (then at its original location) and a dream I'd had when I got home. There was a band onstage in the dream at a place quite like Will's, singing a song which went, "New music women have such cute noses." When I woke up, I wrote a real life version of the song in my dream. Like the Wendy Chioji song before it, this song was also initially unintended for the public's ears, but one day a couple weeks later I said "what the hell" and put it up online. But I didn't think anyone would like it, nor did I expect anyone to take it seriously.
My move back to Florida just happened to be three days before my birthday. I decided to celebrate by driving to Daytona Beach to soak up the waves and catch a performance by the very wonderful local singer-songwriter and ex-Dodger drummer Jeff Ilgenfritz, a.k.a. Mumpsy. Upon welcoming me that evening, he said he wanted to talk. We sat down together and right away he said, "Ray, I've been on your Myspace page listening to your music and I gotta tell ya, you have one song in particular that's definitely a hit." "Which one?" I inquired. "Wendy? Dirge For Justice?" The answer was no on both counts. "Actually," Jeff continued, "I can't remember its name..."
I continued to reel off the names of all the songs I'd posted, saving for last the one I was definitely NOT expecting to be a hit, namely "New Music Women." Ding! Suddenly Jeff jumped out of his seat and exclaimed "THAT'S IT! That's the one! Man, I'm tellin' ya, that song is CLASSIC." My mind was blown. THAT one? Out of all my songs, the one I wrote in 10 minutes based on a song with a strange chorus in a dream I had? Jeff assured me it was indeed that one. I appreciated his comments greatly, of course, but for a good long while I couldn't quite wrap my mind around the nature of his compliment somehow. In time, however, that would change... but we'll get back to that.
By late '08 I was feeling a bit more settled into Orlando life, and finding that my sudden notoriety was finally starting to get new people to notice me instead of the other way around. And one day, on Myspace, I received a friend request from a new band calling themselves Alias Punch. Appreciative of their interest, I accepted. 'Twas only fair that I'd check them out in return, and by Halloween I was at Austin's Coffee Bar in Winter Park watching them play live... and honestly thinking they sucked. They struck me as a band that was trying to be weird and quirky and psychedelic but were too naive and just trying too hard. The night would prove awkward for all parties involved as the boys in Punch seemed equally as unsure of me as I was of them. Nonetheless, since they seemed like nice enough guys who'd expressed interest, I decided to leave them with a stack of free Brazen CDs on my way out.
Three weeks later, at a now-defunct coffee lounge and music space called Natura, I felt a sudden tap on my shoulder and turned around to see Jasper Bleu and Dusty Mondy, two-thirds of Alias Punch, looming over me. This time they didn't seem quite so shy and unsure of me. In fact, suddenly it seemed like I was some sort of god to them. "RAY BRAZEN!!!!" one of them yelled. "YOU'RE AMAZIN'!!!" They then told me of how, after our previous meeting, they'd gone to someone's house for a nightcap and on a whim, put on one of the CDs I'd given them... and went nuts over what they heard. They were especially fond of one song in particular -- and to illustrate this, they pointed to the attractive females who were with them and said, "So what do you think, Ray? Are these New Music Women or what?" "Yes," I agreed, "they do indeed have very cute noses!" I ended up hanging out with Jasper and Dusty and their female friends the rest of the night, soaking up their sudden Brazen idol worship, along with their repeated sudden bursts into the chorus of "New Music Women," the whole time.
At the same time, though, I admit I felt a bit uncomfortable with the whole situation. Suddenly, Alias Punch had decided I was the greatest thing since sliced bread -- but I was still struggling with the fact that I felt anything but the same about them at the time. Still, when they invited me to visit them at their practice space a few days after Christmas '08 to listen to some new material they were working on, I vowed to approach the situation with an open mind and give them a second opinion. I sat patiently as Jasper, Dusty and Arkie played me their new ideas... and this time I heard something.
To my ears, the new songs were a great improvement over the ones they'd played live a few months earlier. The songs were heavier and more well thought-out, and convinced me they were trying harder. At last I began to feel like I didn't have to lie through my teeth when I said I thought their music had potential. As if to seal my newly increasing appreciation further, the boys then had me show them the chords to one of my songs, "Shoot Down The Harvest Moon," and said they were considering doing a cover version of it, with my approval of course. I gave my blessing and told them to go for it, though I don't believe their cover version ever materialized (if so, I have never heard it). I left their practice space feeling much more confident that we could have a mutual admiration society after all.
It didn't take long at all. I finally saw my second Alias Punch gig in January '09, at Uncle Lou's... and they totally blew me away that night. All the promise, all the potential, all of it solidified in a brutal performance that finally made me a believer in Punch for life, and from there our association grew by leaps and bounds. Soon after, I was invited to support Punch at a special acoustic showcase at Austin's Coffee in Winter Park. I was excited for the opportunity as it was only my second live performance in Florida. But holy shit, I wasn't expecting to have a substantial portion of my set list for the gig determined by no less than THREE requests, two from members of Punch and one from an unnamed person in the audience: "Wendy Chioji Please Don't Goji," "Shoot Down the Harvest Moon," and the song that was already starting to surpass "Wendy" as my biggest local smash, "New Music Women." It was quite a measure of how I was catching on down here, and it left me in a daze afterward.
That acoustic showcase, and a few other shows I also participated in, were meant to show off the talents of the new collective Punch were part of at that time called Soundvine. It was a conglomerate of local musicians who were trying to create an answer to all the usual run-of-the-mill independent music scenes. I made several new friends within this collective, some of whom I remain in close touch with to this day. Bands like Yogurt Smoothness, International Auxiliary, the Queues, and the very colorfully named Tam Tam the Sandwich Man and his Magical Sugar Cookies, all of whom played sounds which didn't quite fit in with the indie-rock norms, just like Punch. No pop-punk, no shoegaze, no hardcore or metal, none of the same stale old shit that everyone else was doing to death by then and too many are still doing now. The Soundvine artists played forward thinking music with a true identity and swagger. The "Soundvine Shuffle" series presented its bands in roundtable fashion, each band playing 15-minute sets in a predetermined lineup, then playing second and (sometimes) third sets in the same order.
Soundvine, like so many other well-intentioned musical experiments, didn't last long, ultimately collapsing for many of the same reasons so many such experiments do. But the bands soldiered on regardless, and I watched as Alias Punch grew from a band I hated the first time I heard 'em into a band that made one of the greatest albums ever made by anyone EVER, "A New Shade Of Blue," and perhaps the greatest fall season song ever as well in the insanely masterful 14-minute epic "Halloween '93" (see the equally insane video for it above). Jasper, Dusty and Arkie Jay left their mark all the way up to NYC, finding kindred spirits there in my very dear old-school mates Fly Ashtray of all bands. Punch were special and indescribable and I feel truly sorry for those who missed them. They sadly broke up in mid-decade and have reunited only once since then. Only Arkie Jay remains musically active today, and in a surprisingly mellower, more ambient direction far removed from that of Punch. On top of that, all three have left Orlando by now -- Arkie's now living in Phoenix, Dusty's now in Atlanta, and Jasper just moved to LA! They leave behind a contingency of locals who still hold them in their hearts and still hold out hope that someday they'll bless us with their presence again, if only as a one-off reunion deal. We'll see...
TO BE CONTINUED...
