ARMANDO, JET AND ME: NY & NJ, JUNE 2021

Over the past six years on this blog I have delighted in telling tales of my "historical rock & roll misadventures" from days long ago. With that in mind, I now proudly present a rock & roll tale which takes place in the present day, yet is destined for history and in fact involves folks already well discussed in past stories here. 

Those who have followed my web endeavors from the beginning are well aware of my association with the legendary Mexican psychedelic rock band Los Dug Dug's, and boy oh boy, have we come a long way. It seems that the website I created for the band in the late '90s is now considered a pioneering moment in the history of Mexican rock on the web, as the first serious site created for a Mexican band. And it is further being cited as the work that put Los Dug Dug's on the map of world-acclaimed psych bands and ultimately fueled a current wave of renewed interest. This wave has already led to the main Dug Dug himself, Armando Nava, setting up headquarters north of the border and playing a number of shows in the States, including several psych music festivals. Their presence on the web in recent years has been maintained by Jose Pena, a promoter in Mexico City who took over from me in 2013 and has done an absolutely amazing job, creating the official Dug Dug's online fan club La Gente on Facebook. Since its inception it has become a massive memorabilia archive of such size and depth it leaves me almost completely speechless.

Armando and his rotating lineup of new Dug Dug's (who sometimes still include members who played on classic albums like the almighty "Smog") played several shows both in Mexico and America and were planning more Stateside dates last year, but... (Nope, let's not even go there!) But now that life is returning to normal again, they're already gearing up to begin playing live again this year, starting with a July 31st show in Las Vegas and an appearance at the Huichica psych festival in Sonoma, California in mid-October. In the meantime, Armando has returned to work on a forthcoming documentary about his life and his band. It has already been in production for a couple of years, but this year the operation has officially shifted into triple-overdrive. And on the second weekend in June, Armando and his director Miguel Guerrero took it to the streets of New York and New Jersey, personally inviting yours truly to join them all-expenses-paid to appear and be interviewed in the documentary. How could I have possibly said no, especially since I hadn't set foot in my homeland in well over a decade? 

They said it would only be a two-day shoot, but I talked them into putting me up in Brooklyn for six days -- June 11 to 16 -- so I could mix business with pleasure, not to mention make it into a very sentimental journey home, about which I will say more later. I gotta admit I was nervous and anxious as hell going in. I intially worried, as did a few loved ones, that the whole thing would turn out to be an ungodly mess and I'd wind up stranded. It didn't help matters any that they hadn't finalized my lodging arrangements until mere hours before my flight, with a simple promise that "the keys are in the mailbox out front." It wasn't for fear of flying that I was scared shitless to board that plane. But as the flight took off I thought, "Wait a minute! This is Armando we're talking about. I may not know these other people but I do know him, and I know he definitely wouldn't steer me wrong." 

That was just the thought I needed to get me through the flight, and four and a half hours and two buses later I finally found the address of the place I was staying, relieved to find the keys were indeed in its mailbox. I keyed my way in to a large, lovely room with an actual bed in it, then waited nervously for my temporary roommate to emerge from the shower, hoping she'd be nice. I was beyond relieved when a beautiful young lady named Jessica finally came out and immediately commenced to being incredibly cool and laid back with me, telling me to make myself right at home and slipping me the Wifi password in the process. "Just one rule," she told me, "no loud music. Other than that, you're good." I took this to be a very good omen indeed.

Later that day, Armando and Miguel arrived from San Francisco and they hooked up with Issel Campos, the simply glamorous bright red-haired producer of the Dug Dug's doc. I figured on getting to see them that night, but they claimed they'd get in too late and be too tired. The next morning my Facebook feed revealed a shot of them drinking Tecate in a bar the night before, which honestly seemed a bit suspect at the time, but I was soon to learn this was part of the plan, for when it came time to report to the shoot two days later, well... I literally walked right smack dab into the middle of it. The cameras were already rolling when I entered La Loncheria in Bushwick and walked straight into the path of Armando Nava himself. And then I realized why they'd kept him from me until then -- they wanted the exact moment of our face-to-face reunion in the film to be completely authentic, real and unstaged. 

It was perfectly natural for me to snap right into my role. Quickly seizing the moment, I told Armando he still looked the same as he did on his vintage album covers, then noticed he had a freshly-opened bottle of Sidral Mundet in front of him, and told him of my obsession with Mexican soda (which is always made with sugar and comes in many exotic flavors). Armando invited me to have one with him and at that moment the director yelled "Cut!" The reunion scene was in the can in one unrehearsed take, and cast and crew immediately retreated to the back of the restaurant for a full-fledged Dug Dug's dinner party with the main Dug himself playing host! 

I had the most amazing time eating La Loncheria's absolutely killer food while reconnecting with Armando, hanging out in person at last with Miguel and Issel, and finally meeting Eric Zolov, author of the definitive history of Mexican counterculture, "Refried Elvis," a book I've admired for years. The whole crew was as saintly to me as Sr. Nava himself and the whole affair melted into one dream world smack in the midst of Brooklyn. And all the stars aligned as this once seemingly most uncertain and haphazardly arranged of situations became one smooth operation from top to bottom. After four dizzying hours of eating, drinking and talking with Armando and crew, I floated back to my crash pad on air and my temporary roommate Jessica actually invited me back out for a drink! I said "Sure, but can I rest a bit first?" and then promptly passed out from exhaustion. But I wouldn't have minded a friendly night out with her -- I wondered if she actually thought I was some indie film star!

The next day I met up with Armando and his crew again, this time at a pub known as Bizarre Bar. It was here that I saw firsthand just how rock docs are REALLY made. If you think they just roll the cameras and let the subject ad-lib his way through the interview, you're only partially right. As I already knew going in from having worked as a movie extra in the late '90s, they don't fuck around when making a film. It involves quite a bit of time setting up and waiting around for them to get everything exactly right. And yes, just as with a regularly scripted film, your interview is subject to breaks in the action, often in mid-sentence, which in turn requires you to do several takes of many of your answers.  (This raw footage of Mick Ronson's last interview before his death is a good example of what a typical rock doc shoot is generally like.)

Still, I guess having to redo some of my answers was good in the end, for I made an effort to do it better each take, just as if I was acting. Armando sat quietly in a corner through it all, watching me speak and taking mental notes, until I played the last scene directly to him. And once again the whole crew was amazing. They were just the kind of laid-back, easygoing people who leave you with the impression you've known them before, even though you've just met them. 'Tis pity I only got to spend two days with Armando and his wonderful friends, and just writing this makes me wish we could all meet back at La Loncheria. It's my sincere hope that I cross paths with them again, and I can't thank Miguel, Issel and all the rest enough for making this trip into a dream come true for me. They are very special people on a very special mission to give Los Dug Dug's the recognition they truly deserve, and I can't wait to see the final results. 

My work on the documentary was complete, but with almost two days left before my flight back to Orlando I now had a second mission to accomplish, one which involved boarding a bus back to my hometown of Elmwood Park, NJ. After a very surrealistic walk around the town noting its drastic changes (including the utterly sobering sight of my beloved old corner store replaced by a friggin' Allstate office) and surprising my all-time favorite former next-door neighbor Kitty, now all of 104 years old and still sharp as a tack -- move over, Betty White!!! -- I met up with Mr. Mark DeAngelis a.k.a. Jet Screamer, my ex-partner in Living Guitars. We had a great lunch at Pizza Town, my favorite hometown pizza place that's been around since 1958 and hasn't changed a bit, and then proceeded to Bloomfield and Jet's home studio (which, sadly, is now being sold from under him). 

One thing quickly led to another and soon we both had guitars in our hands and were jamming together for the first time in 30 years, a very special and historic moment for both of us indeed. I'll say no more about that at this time (draw your own conclusions you fanboys), but I will say that Jet is still the same cool and crazy tech wizard I knew back in the day, perhaps even more so, and he still has that same old Guild axe he played in Living Guitars. We drank barley tea, talked about the old and the new, went over Jet's amazing collection of gear, and then Jet drove me back to my bus in Elmwood Park... but we didn't leave before I took him to my favorite local hot dog joint, River View East! Thusly, I successfully accomplished my planned feat of eating at BOTH of my favorite hometown eateries on the same day! It was another amazing day and just as with the day of my reunion with Armando, I floated on air back to Bushwick to spend one final night at my temporary HQs. And once again, I found myself quite reluctant to board the plane... but for very different reasons this time! 

Six days back in NYC wasn't nearly enough time to see very many old friends. But the few I did get to see were just as wonderful as they've always been. In addition to Armando and Jet, I also touched base with Sari of the Gamma Rays (one of the greatest female rock & roll bands EVER) and psychedelic legend (in more ways than one) Dino Sorbello, who still has his old flat on East 6th Street -- and it still looks exactly the same! I only wish I could've seen so many more of my old-school chums, but there's always next time... and I'm thinking there may well have to be one. 

My story wouldn't be complete without some observations about New York and New Jersey in general after having seen 'em for the first time in many, many years. First and foremost, Williamsburg was a far bigger nightmare to experience firsthand than it was to even hear about, and no level of advance warning could've prepared me for the viciously soul-crushing horror of seeing once-peaceful Bedford Avenue's transformation into Brooklyn's answer to downtown Disney in person. Greenwich Village was equally as painful to see again for the most part -- St. Marks Place now looks like a nuclear bomb hit it, and I deliberately avoided walking past Varvatos, er, I mean the former CBGB location. 

But the NYC of old isn't completely dead -- you just have to know where to look for it. To that end, it is thanks to my weeklong residence there that I found that old-school city vibe still in effect in Bushwick, which still has salsa sounds coming from passing cars and bodegas on every other corner, graffiti all over the place and a strong artist presence -- in short, the NYC I remember. I grew to like Bushwick very much during my stay, and I greatly enjoyed filming there and visiting the new Rubulad location and watching the sun rise from the big old cemetery they put me up right across the street from. Across the Hudson, more modern culture shock awaited me, especially in places like the Meadowlands (now a huge upscale shopping mall) and my hometown, but New Jersey still has places I remember, and of course Jet lives there now!

One very major nostalgic payoff for me came in the form of hometown food. Many places I used to eat at regularly are still there and still serving great grub to this day, like Pizza Town and River View East in ol' Elmwood Park, and San Loco in the East Village and Anna Maria's pizza in Williamsburg. The local pizza in general remains second to none and even my one go-to spot for the stuff in Orlando, good though it is, still couldn't hold a candle to it. And yes, there was a White Castle within walking distance of my temporary HQs... with only one person ahead of me in line! (Take THAT, O-Town!)

Oh yeah, and one more thing... I'm not gonna lie, I definitely took some advantage of NY & NJ's recently revised laws regarding a certain (cough, cough) recreational activity during my stay. Suffice it to say the whole goshdarn city smells like one big party now...

All in all, this trip couldn't possibly have come at a better time. These last two years of my life have been extremely difficult for me. Between the deaths of multiple family members and friends and the recent state of the world, I was still in the midst of a deep depression when Armando and Miguel first hit me up to do this thing. Reconnecting with my homeland, participating in the Dug Dug's documentary project, and spending time with friends both old and new was exactly the sort of healing I needed at this time, and may very well have saved my life. It's pure joy to feel alive and inspired once more in the wake of this incredible adventure, and now that I'm feeling so much better, I also feel more creative than ever before.  

And so once again to Miguel & Issel, Eric, Tania and the rest of the crew, Jet, Sari, Dino, Jessica & Teresa who kindly lent me their space, and most of all my dearest friend and most amazing human being Armando Nava, I thank all of you more than you will ever, ever know. May we all meet again, and may I return someday very soon and see the many old friends I still wish to meet with again, and make more new ones as I go. 

And last, but definitely not least, I am filled with pride and honor to conclude this post by announcing that nearly a quarter century after I launched El Mundo Loco De Los Dug Dug's on the web, the band's very own site LOSDUGDUGS.COM is now online. And dear readers, may I gently suggest you call/text the phone number posted on the site sometime. You never know who might answer...

(And click here for the full gallery of photos from my trip!)

THE VENTURES: BRAZEN'S GUITAR HEROES

I guess I could say my love for the Ventures began when I first found "Walk Don't Run" in my dad's stack of old 45s. Or I could say it began when I first got into surf music and heard a few more Ventures tracks along the way. But honestly, I'd have to say the big turning point which officially put me on the path to becoming so profoundly inspired and influenced by the Ventures was when Tommy Koprowski and I began swapping punk records in high school, and one day he brought in something a little different: a Ventures album called "Wild Things!" 

I've spoken of Tommy here before. It was through him that I first heard the Misfits... in 1979. He was also nothing less than the James Williamson of my hometown, later playing in legendary '80s NJ hardcore bands Mourning Noise and Bedlam. So much of my afterschool time was spent at Tommy's house, where I would just sit on his bed and watch him play his Gibson Les Paul for hours, transfixed and fascinated by his skills the entire time. That's how I eventually learned to play guitar myself -- "You can do this too!" he'd often tell me -- and my approach to playing it still bears much of his influence to this very day. But he wasn't my only guitar influence!

Anyway, I was very impressed that Tommy would bring a Ventures album into our ongoing vinyl swaps, and I was even more impressed when I took "Wild Things" home and played it, and it turned out to be just as fuzzy, nasty and punky sounding as any of the modern punk groups we'd been listening to at the time. Heck, the back cover even carried an endorsement of the distortion pedal used on the album, the Fuzzrite -- a product of the Ventures' immortal guitar designers Mosrite. (Original Fuzzrites in good working order sell for up to $600 today!) But it really was no surprise that the Ventures would sound so punky to our ears, for they were being rediscovered by punk rockers the world over at the same time Tommy and I were groovin' to "Wild Things." And when they reciprocated the love the punks were showing them by playing places like the Mudd Club and covering "Surfin' and Spyin'" by the Go-Go's on a triumphant comeback single, it was officially on. 

Not long after that memorable trade, I found "(The) Ventures In Space" in a dollar bin somewhere. Wow. That album really turned me upside down. Released in 1964, it could very well have been the first psychedelic rock album, in fact -- spacey and spooky, it took surf music to a whole new level. I was now a believer. And as I branched out from beginner to intermediate level guitar, I went into a Ventures feeding frenzy, scouring thrift stores and record fairs to find as many of their dozens of albums as I could find, and trying to learn as many songs as I could play. Along the way another school friend of mine named Dante DeStefano, who wasn't a punk but loved the Ventures just as much as Tommy and I, taped me all the albums he had by them. Man, I learned so much from those albums, and I would soon apply that knowledge to my own music. And in time, I would ultimately get to thank the very gentlemen who gave me that knowledge through their music... right to their very faces.

The night of April 25, 1988 was absolutely one of the greatest nights of my entire life, EVER. I set out to the Lone Star Roadhouse in lower Manhattan to meet up with my date that evening from radio station WFMU, Ericka a.k.a Wildgirl. I was excited not only because I had a big crush on her (believe me, I wasn't the only boy) but even more so because of who we were going to see. And there we were, sitting at the front bar, when suddenly four men walked past us, all carrying guitar cases. Instantly we knew they were the Ventures and I do not exaggerate when I say it literally felt like four total rock legends were walking past us at that moment. The moment gave us goosebumps and chills. I was too stunned to even call out like a fool to them, but I needn't have worried, for that ultimately wouldn't matter later on.

Shortly after this brief, shining moment, Wildgirl suddenly had to go to the ladies' room... or so she told me. But when she returned, I could tell she'd been somewhere else, for she was glowing like a Christmas tree. "Guess what?" she exclaimed. "I GOT BACKSTAGE PASSES!!" Time stood still. Holy shit. We were actually going to meet The Ventures after the show! I was already on cloud nine and they hadn't even played yet. 

But of course they did finally play, and they kicked right into "Walk Don't Run" (and later they even did "Walk Don't Run '64"), and they did all the songs you'd expect and a few surprises and they climaxed it all with ten glorious minutes of the very best version of "Caravan" I've ever heard in my life with Mel Taylor performing part of a long and breathtaking drum solo on the strings of Don Wilson's bass. My only wishes were that they'd still played Mosrites instead of Fenders and that their original lead shredder Nokie Edwards had been there instead of Gerry McGee, but they made those Fenders fly and Gerry's totally awesome in his own right! I was bouncing up and down like a little kid through the whole set... and they noticed it. And yes, soon the Ventures themselves were giving me glances and approving smiles from the stage at the way I was just losing my mind dancing to my favorite band in the entire world. They were just fantastic. 

The Ventures finally left the stage after a performance that went all too fast and then... the moment of truth arrived. I was excited, but nervous. I was about to meet a group of musicians I'd absolutely worshipped up to that point. How would it play out? Wildgirl and I flashed our backstage passes and were waved past security. We rooted around a bit and eventually found all four of the Ventures sitting around, just relaxing. We poked our heads in and sheepishly introduced ourselves. 

Suddenly I couldn't have felt more comfortable. Here were four of the biggest musicians in the whole biz, who influenced me and so many others, made millions of albums, and were complete and total royalty to us... acting like not a single speck of all that fame had gone to their heads. And all of a sudden I was sitting on a couch with Bob Bogle, and the next thing I knew we were deep into a one-on-one conversation which lasted for a good 20 minutes! (I so wish I'd brought my boombox along to capture it all, for as I remember, it was quite a revealing chat.) As I was enjoying our talk, I looked across the room and there was Wildgirl, deep in her own chat with Gerry McGee! I looked back just in time to see Mel Taylor suddenly walk over to me and Bob -- "Hey, there's that kid who was dancing in the front row! Man, you were really bouncing around out there... " Needless to say, by that point I was just... losing my mind. 

The Ventures generously allowed us to hang out with them for almost an hour and were the absolute coolest cats you'd ever want to meet. I only wish I'd known in advance what was in store for me that night and brought along my albums to sign. I settled for their autographs in my very cheap ball point pen on the back of a Lone Star Roadhouse flyer, which in retrospect was mighty stupid of me since they have since badly deteriorated. If anyone can make the above scan of their scrawls (signed in order of appearance by Bob, Mel, Don and Gerry) look better than it does here, please feel free to! The message "Keep up the great music" is a reminder of my mentioning to them that I was doing music myself and that they were a huge influence. The Ventures had nothing but encouraging words for me in return, and I can attest the whole affair really rubbed off on me: just six months later I would finally put Living Guitars together with Mark DeAngelis and make original sounds inspired in large part by them. 

Much though I wanted to just hang out with them forever, this most memorable meeting finally had to come to an end. But I floated on air all the way home. The Ventures became even bigger and greater heroes to me that night than they ever were before. And to me, they will always be the greatest. 

(By the way, if anyone out there knows whatever happened to either Ericka Dana (Wildgirl) or Dante DeStefano, please get in touch ASAP. I'd greatly appreciate the info. I have been in recent contact with Tommy K, who these days leads a surf-rock cover band called... wait for it... The Dentures. And he's still playing that guitar of his as fiercely as ever. Maybe someday I'll write about the homemade "splatter films" we made together. Anyway, to conclude this post, here's the Ventures playing a few songs live in Japan just a few months after I saw 'em...)

THAT TIME I (ALMOST) SAW GG

I saw GG Allin in New York City in 1988. Well... kinda.

It was a Saturday night in November of that year and I was just hopping around the East Village by myself, feeling rather bored, when I was informed that GG happened to be playing in town that night. The gig was at the Lismar Lounge on First Avenue, and believe it or not, it was his second of two appearances there! It could very well be that the Lismar was the only club in NYC brave enough to actually have him back a second time. GG's first gig there, unbeknownst to me then, had been a full year earlier, in November 1987. Years later, I was rather shocked to learn of this, and for good reason: I played my very first gig in that very same bar just three months later, not knowing at the time who had taken that small, dingy stage before me (though honestly, it didn't make much difference in the end). 

But anyway, I somehow found myself all by my lonesome at the Lismar, contemplating whether or not I should actually avail myself of this golden opportunity to see GG Allin. It was early and the doors to the downstairs band room wouldn't be open for maybe another hour. This gave me plenty of time to think about it, so I figured I'd do so over a drink. And as I sat there at the bar on the Lismar's main floor nursing my beverage, I looked over to my right... and there he was. Yes, it was GG himself, entertaining a tiny crowd of about 3 or 4 fans who looked just as slimey and decrepit as he was. 

Oh, he was totally behaving himself. In fact, he seemed to be doing little more than just talking to this trusty, crusty little circle of followers while having a quiet drink himself. If I hadn't known who he was, I'd honestly have thought he was just another punk sitting at the bar with some friends. I certainly wasn't fearing for my life, but I just as certainly wasn't about to move over to the barstool next to his and introduce myself. So I just stayed where I was and watched GG out of the corner of my eye. There really isn't more I can say about my close encounter with GG because truthfully, nothing happened. 

At any rate, I soon finished my drink and then made my way downstairs, still trying to decide whether I should stay for GG's show. And truth be told, I was this close to throwing all caution to the wind and going for it -- you only live once, right? But when I got downstairs, just as the doorman took his place at the entrance to the basement (which would, again, play host to my own very first live gig just months later), I was immediately informed admission would be a full ten bucks. Again, bear in mind that it was 1988, and ten dollars was then roughly equivalent to just over twice as much money in today's currency (about $22). I felt that was a bit too much more than I was willing to pay to see GG Allin, and that settled the issue for me once and for all. And so I made my excuses and headed to a quiet evening at home instead.

It turned out I'd made a very smart choice. For just a few days later I found out what I'd missed... or rather, didn't miss. It seems that sometime after our little "encounter" at the bar, GG shot up some very potent heroin a fan had slipped him, and by showtime he was completely incoherent and unable to even stand up. I'm told he stumbled down the stairs to the basement, mumbled his way through just two songs, and then collapsed, and that was the whole show. No pooping, no self-mutilation, no attacking the crowd, none of the things you'd have expected GG to do. He was simply too fucked up. With the doorman refusing to offer refunds, the crowd is said to have then turned on GG and given him a hearty dose of his own medicine, and that was that. 

I wasn't sorry I missed it. Deciding against seeing GG Allin "perform live" on that night in November 1988 was the wisest decision I ever made in my entire four decades' worth of going to live shows. But at least I can say our paths crossed... and that's more than enough for me! 

Anyhow, here's footage from Youtube of GG's set at the Lismar the previous year. I'm rather surprised that GG live videos are actually (presumably) allowed on YT, and even more surprised that this performance is actually pretty tame by GG standards -- he seems almost laid-back here! Perhaps it's not all that surprising that they allowed him back a second time...

BRAZEN IN ORLANDO, PART 2 (2008-13): WENDY CHIOJI AND ALIAS PUNCH

(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...

Another Soundvine band I grew to really love and become good friends with was Yogurt Smoothness, the duo of Dan Kirk and Brian Stabile (who in fact are still doing biz to this day under the new name of Deathcrusher). In fact, Dan was another one of many, many folks in that circle who told me his favorite Ray Brazen song was "New Music Women." This song's strange, ever-increasing popularity ultimately led to a strange incident one night at Austin's Coffee Bar in the spring of 2013, in which Dan booked me as a surprise last-second fill-in for another act one fine Friday night, where I made a young lady in the audience blush bright pink for some odd reason when I looked at her while singing the song, and then got a huge ovation from a packed house at the end of it! Dan also booked the show at Uncle Lou's in July 2010 which led to my first big write-up in the Orlando Weekly's live music column. My first meeting with Bao Le-Huu was perhaps even more awkward than my first meeting with Punch, as the review proves. But I'd made a start on the Orlando scene at last, and things would get better and more interesting as they progressed... especially when the Weekly started taking me more seriously, and a local label expressed interest in working with me. 

TO BE CONTINUED...