That's When I Knew It Was Over

The Sunset Strip. Hollywood. Saturday night. July 2000. We're playing a hard-won semi-residency at The Crooked Bar, a little spot located precisely at the most heavily travelled spot on the Strip. Boy, what an accomplishment after a hard campaign. This could be our break, right here. We've been out of our record deal for a couple of months and our new young drummer Paul Courtois is really, really great. fiction is coming into its own; we've just done an album called "the eerie blue martian sunset" that is very modern and really rocks. We've just started to play LA a lot and it's gone great, we've gotten a great review in the Music Connection for a show we did for 200 people at The Mint. We've inked with a San Diego online label called Spin Records that will fund a lot of promotion if you really hammer them. These guys will disappear in the night about 5 months hence, taking the stock of 40 bands with them.

So, we're playing and every minute about 200 people are walking by the door.

And not one comes in. Not one single person. We're playing for the soundman and the bartender on a Saturday night on the Fantastic Sunset Strip. And we're really good.

That's when I knew it was over.