Part IV: Fame, Here We Come! Well, Let's Just Say, Here We Come. AKA: The Plan

Nirvana played really simple, straight forward songs that didn't require a lot of skill. Don't misunderstand me. The songs are brilliant, heart felt and poignant, however, if you broke 3 of your high strings, you could still cover about 85 percent of Nirvana's catalog of songs.

That said, I picked it up fairly quickly and was having a lot of fun playing songs (not perfectly) that people were into as we all got drunk together. One of the friends that I would drink with (and have many future drinks with) was Mike Flaccavento. He would sometimes sing the song while I played guitar. This was when I got the initial spark for creating a band. It never really went anywhere in the the beginning. I think Mike had access to a karaoke machine and we were able to track a few rough sample songs. It really didn't start coming together until the man (or, at the time, boy) got behind the drums.

Christmas morning, 1994. A very young Tim Vaughan (aka Timmy, aka Timmy Guns), just turned 14 years young, steps out into his living room and awaits his first drum set. A black Tama Swingstar.

At the time, I didn't really know Tim too much. He was simply my friend Chris's little brother. I had mentioned the idea of starting a band to Chris and he told me all about how his brother plays drums and that he was getting a set on Christmas. I don't quite remember how it went down, but I showed up at Tim's family's apartment on that Christmas morning with a small amp and guitar and we wailed out.

Naturally we both sucked something awful at the time, but it didn't matter. There was such an electricity, such a purity, such an unbridled joy that I felt when I heard the guitar roar with the explosive drum beats. I don't think that Tim's father knew what was in store that day, but surprisingly, he was totally cool with it. (I think...I didn't see Tim with any bruises in the following days, so I assume he was ok with it.) I'm almost certain that the neighbors were not as forgiving.

To be honest, I don't remember actually asking Tim about how he felt about playing in a band with me, but I'm sure at some point it must have been discussed. I hope. If not, well, then I abducted Tim for years to play drums for me, but more importantly to be one of my best friends.

With Mike, myself and Tim geared up, we still needed a bass player. Enter Nick Coppolecchia. A stouthearted friend of mine that I graduated high school with. I am not sure what got Nick into the idea, but as soon as he did, he was full steam ahead. Within the week, Nick had purchased a bass guitar and was on his way to being one of the best (red) bass players I had ever played with. Red, you ask? Yes, red. Apparently, the person who owned the bass prior to Nick had some writing on the back or something along those lines that Nick had scraped off, leaving the red paint loose. He clothes slowly started to turn red until he came up with the best solution one could come up with. Duck tape the back. Problem solved. It's this type of ingenuity that set us apart from the rest. However, not sure if that made us a better band.

What now? We need to practice some songs. Where? At "Rock 'Til You Drop" of course. Rock 'Til You Drop was a rehearsal space not too far from us that you were able to book by the hour. We booked our first practice as a band before we fully knew any songs. The result was slightly cringe worthy, but still a great time. We invited some of our friends to come check it out. A bunch of people showed up, presumably, because it was kind of exciting for their friends to now have this very cool outlet of being in a rock band. That, and the more likely reason of it being a place where underage kids could bring beers and cigarettes and get hammered. We played some originals and some Nirvana songs...really badly, but innocently.

The entirety of that first practice was, thanks to Mike, captured on video, which you can check out here.

With Nick on the bass, Mike singing, Guns on the drums and myself carrying the sole responsibility on the guitar (and singing a few songs), it still felt like something was missing. Something was about to change.