Way back at the beginning of the year 2003, there was a guy named Aaron who had just left his theatre gang. He was filled with an immense amount of angst for a twenty-eight year old boy and had a bevy of free time. He went around to different friends and acquaintances to see what projects they might want to do. Some people said this, others said that, but only one project came fruition: Rock Band.

His two oldest friends in Albuquerque, his brother Matt & the eccentric artist Willy, agreed to start fooling around with instruments in a bizarre rock fashion. Aaron only knew how to play the alto saxophone, but after Matt chose the drums & Willy the guitar, the electric bass became the logical choice. Aaron dubbed the band Old Beans after the British expression for old friends, and the name was misinterpreted and mocked ever since.

Bang bang bang on the drums, screech strum chunk on the guitar, thumpa twang bong on the bass. Whiskey & cackling. Jabber on about this, that, & the other for a few months, and the trio invested in the coveted gear. Big amps, a P.A. system with mikes for all, and desperate angry passion (there was a war on) created an intensely loud & frightening sound which disturbed & upset the neighborhood. The trio did not care.

By Halloween of 2003, the band had eight poorly constructed songs, and they decided to get a gig at someone's party. They played poorly but didn't notice. They thought they did quite well considering they could not play their instruments with much skill. More practice, more whiskey, more gigs. They continued to play poorly but enjoyed it nevertheless.

Then in early 2005 came a lost soul named Levi. He had just quit his street-core punk band and asked to join the trio. The first response was 'Why?' and quickly followed with 'Sure, why not?' The loud awful band got much louder but slightly less awful.

Personal issues & irate neighbors caused the band to relocate its practice space to a basement on High Street. Spiders spun down from the crypt, and the Beans banged & boomed & babbled. They spat & fought. They laughed & drank. They even discovered how to play their instruments a little better. They learned cover songs (lots of Johnny Cash), wrote originals, recorded one song for a compilation, and gigged at the rock bars in downtown Albuquerque.

Old Beans gained no following. No groupies. No rock star status. No one got laid because of their performances. No one developed a new debilitating drug habit. No member got too big of an ego. No rock & roll cliches. Just friends playing strange loud music for drunks in bars & themselves.

In 2006, a changes occurred. Personal issues improved, and the High Street space ceased. The band relocated to a rock garage (storage area) where several bands could rock 24/7 without complaints. The whiskey money made from gigs now went to paying for the space. The members themselves found themselves drawn to other activities. Willy went back to art school, Levi joined another punk band called The Rumfits, Aaron continued to act & direct plays, and Matt quit his white collar job. Old Beans continued on, but now other projects began pulling at them.

The rehearsals that were once easy to schedule became more and more difficult. Practices consisted of less than the full quartet more and more. Old Beans hung out less, stopped writing new songs, and getting together felt more like an obligation than a pleasure.

By April of 2007, Old Beans agreed to take a month off for everyone to accommodate their other hobbies. By the end of May, it was clear that trying to schedule regular practices would be futile. The angry, not-so-young lads were not so angry nor as not-so-young as they were four years before. There was still a war going on, but they had all weathered the storm of artistic desperation and filled their time with other things they wanted to do.

Last night, Old Beans played their final set. They still played wrong notes, they still sang the wrong lyrics, they still played loud with the desperate energy they started with four years ago. Friends came to The Atomic Cantina to cheer them on one more time, and everyone had a good rocking time. Four years, 58 gigs. Not bad for a bunch of hacks.

Levi will continue to rock out with The Rumfits, Willy will paint a picture, Matt will write a story, and Aaron will direct a play. With a little luck, too much time & another mid-life crisis, the four men-children might get together some day and make a whole new band. Old Beans is now the stuff of legend, never to return. They never turned the world (or the town) on to their bizarre unique rock, but four common artists fed their desperate cravings for expression.

The book is closed on another local rock band, but I can't help but wonder what will happen with those four guys. One thing is for sure, they are all better, stronger, tougher and more impressive people for the experience. Although they now go their separate ways, they will be Old Beans forever.

Chris Jungle will write your legend for a nominal fee.