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After really tearing it up in Milwaukee, (and for legal reasons I am not allowed to mention the biker rave-up at the Juneau Pumpkin Center), it was a move to Madison that really jump-started this boy’s career. The first step was to get musicians assembled, which was made easy thanks to Sean from DARKHORSE who had moved to Madison as well.

He grabbed some guys from here and there, we named ourselves THE EDGE, and we got a mini-set together for a Battle Of The Bands. We were the only "rock" band in the assemblage and we paid for it dearly. One of the judges was none other than Timbuk 3's Pat McDonald, who rated our performance’s entertainment value as only slightly above the Black Death. Thanks to VH1, we know he later recorded "The Future’s So Bright (I Gotta Wear Shades)" in Timbuk 3, and is currently residing alongside me in the "Where Are They Now?" file.

I digress.

Pat figured our drummer was the best part of the show, and at first glance it was easy to see why. The band did a killer group drum solo, where we all surrounded the drummer, grabbed extra sticks and beat the hell out of the drums with him. It was a great effect. Too bad it wasn't his idea, and he couldn't keep time with a watch anyway. The shades Pat sported in preparing for his glorious destiny evidently prevented him from seeing AND hearing clearly. We came in last (neither our drummer's nor Pat's fault), but kept our chins up, and prepared for a gig in the Witte Hall dormitory lounge a week later.

Our singer, who looked like Fred from Scooby Doo (and was as positive, easy going and friendly as his cartoon counterpart), had to learn 45 songs in about three weeks. We learned he had only concerned himself with the five tunes for the Battle Of The Bands, and kinda skimped on the other 40. Minor hurdle. Major worries.

In short, the Witte Hall show was a disaster. Among other things, we had forgotten to tune the keyboard to the guitars, so a few intros were in the key of Q. Fred had put cheat sheets on the floor to refresh his memory, and every time he bent over to sneak a lyric the monitors would howl immediately in ear-splitting protest.

During the set, he would coerce the crowd with dynamic stage raps like “Dance! Dance! Dance!” in the middle of Crazy Train. The metal heads we had recruited for the audience looked at him in a slightly hostile, but hopeful fashion, as they weren’t drunk enough yet to throw empties at him but were sober enough to be offended. Besides, they were used to hearing Ozzy yell things like “Keep on smoking ‘em!” during his shows, so maybe this was the college boy dance dance dance mix?

Ugh.

We ended up not playing the entire, contracted performance since Fred lost his voice halfway through the second set. So, we got stiffed for part of our fee. Fairly, it must be noted. If you don’t play the whole night, you can’t expect the whole fee. I went upstairs to my room and fumed: I'll bet Ed Van Halen didn't have to deal with crap like this.

Sleep came and went. In the morning the phone rang.

It was our bassist, who figured we had an opportunity to expand on last night's failure. He knew some other guys who were just dying to start a band. One that would play the actual club stages in town, not the milk crate ones in the dorms.

Would I be interested in meeting them and jamming?

Hell yes, I said. When and where?