Hey Old Bean. It's good to see you, my friend. Really been away too long, and I can't wait to do this again. Hey Old Bean. It's good to see you, my friend. Need an excuse to do this more often. Why don't we start ourselves a band?

At the beginning of 2003, I was at a crossroads. I had just finished a two and half year stint of helping run a volunteer theatre, and I needed something else to feed my creative soul. I went around to friends and acquaintances, asking the question 'what about that thing we always talked about doing?' Most shrugged their shoulders, had moved on to other things, or couldn't remember us ever speaking about doing a project together.

Only one concept came to any fruition: Rock Band. The other band members were not hard to find. They were the only two guys who would consider going to rock shows with me in the first place, my brother Matt and my artist buddy Willy. They just happened to be my oldest friends since moving to Albuquerque twelve years ago.

Matt hadn't played drums since the early 90s, Willy (a percussionist in college) had casually diddled around on guitar, and I could play a decent alto saxophone. I kept the sax in its case and bought a black electric bass. At the time, I was halfway through my 28th year with Matt and Willy over 30. With a little convincing, we decided on the name Old Beans and started ourselves a rock band.

After six months of garage practices, learning to play the instruments, discovering our vocal range, and drinking mass quantities of whiskey and beer, Old Beans played its first gig at a house party on Halloween, 2003. We stumbled through our nine songs with heavy distortion and feedback. The costumed crowd didn't care that we sucked, and I still remember big Winnie the Pooh jumping and bouncing around right in front of me. We were punkers without a cause or clue, but we played our first gig.

We opened very sporadically for bands who have never played with us again. I guess it was a try out of sorts, but Old Beans doesn't fit neatly into any specific style. At the beginning of playing out, we weren't very good at playing together, and Willy had a bad case of stage fright to overcome. Being a theatre guy, I told Willy about my theory for new actors. A standard four-weekend run of a play consists of 12 performances, and after Old Beans 12th show, I predicted that we would be a confident rocking band.

One rule I stressed from the start was that we had to practice at least once a week. No real group project can exists without consistently getting together. Distractions came up at times. Willy broke his back, I directed a play, and Matt watched many DVDs. Even during the slow times, we still got together once a week.

Out of all the bands in Albuquerque, one in particular, thought we were goofy enough to play with them: Romeo Goes To Hell. Their dark pop rock style meshed with our punk pop mish mash, and we gigged with them about once a month. Every gig an adventure, every show a challenge.

Eventually, we played every rock bar downtown: Burt's, The Launch Pad, El Rey, The Golden West, and The Atomic Cantina. We've played the most at last one, and it has become my favorite venue to rock out. We even played a Johnny Cash Tribute there a couple weeks ago. We worked up four JC songs and dished them out with our peculiar distorted style. We've played for five, and we've played for fifty. Once you haul all your gear to a show and set up, you just want to play. Who cares how many are there?

Last Friday, eleven months after our first gig, we finally played our 12th show. It was at The Atomic Cantina, and we were sandwiched between Coke Is Better With Bourbon and The United. We rocked out with a tight driving set, and sure enough, the self-fulfilling prophecy came true. We can rock the house now.

I'm a much different guy than I was a year and a half ago. Rock has toughened me up mentally and physically. Lots of gear to lift, lots of noise to ingest, lots of dark shady characters to deal with. I still have a long way to go with the bass, but I can rip through our songs. My hair has grown out, and coupled with a Lincoln beard, I have the appearance of some deranged hillbilly (getting in touch with my roots, I guess). Close friends and family have come to see Old Beans, but many acquaintances and casual friends have not made the effort to witness my rock n' roll side. Chicken shits. Basically, we play for the subculture beasts that linger in a local rock scene, and dammit if they don't stick around to watch us do our thing.

With 12 shows behind us, the first chapter of Old Beans has come to an end. With 14 songs (11 originals, 3 covers), we can blast an hour of music at anyone. For three guys in their 30s, it's nice to know we can still get it up without Viagra in front of a crowd, and it's the most fun I've ever had on stage. No doubt. Stay tuned for Part 2.

Chris Jungle can officially rock your socks off.