Marty Hobbs (drums)

I guess I can write pretty much whatever I want here, 'cause I doubt anyone is going to find it. Jim Lee can't even find the "Bud Girls" on this site. But, in the unlikely event that someone does happen to stumble on to this pile of drivel - here goes...

I was born independently wealthy, in a city far, far away - Fayetteville, NC. It was the best of times. It was the, uh, ok, it was the best of times. I'm not sure for whom, though. Some of my most early memories, or as I occasionally like to refer to them, "that time I became conscious," are of being at my grandparents' farm. It was there I discovered people would occasionally give you stuff, even if you didn't ask for it. At first, I didn't catch on that it seemed to happen on a regular basis. Then, over time, it dawned on me that this free stuff seemed to occur, very regularly, about every 362 days. And for some reason we had to go to bed while this guy brought "our free stuff" in the house. How he got it down the chimney, I could never figure out. Very strange, I must say. This was probably one of the first indications that I had an uncanny ability to sense "rhythms."

It was also at my grandparents house that I discovered what a drum was. No, seriously. For some reason there happened to be an old wooden, marching band snare drum there. It wasn't in the best shape but it had an old calfskin drum head that had been signed by a bunch of my aunt's high school friends. For some reason I seemed to gravitate towards it. I would sit out on my grandparent's side porch, and bang on it. and Malcolm's kids and grandkids would yell, back across the old country road, to "play it again." Had they only known what they were encouraging. It didn't matter how loud it was, it really didn't matter; My Grandad was usually in a field somewhere, and my Grandmother couldn't hear it. Though, I believe she could hear what she wanted to hear.

Not too many years later, I got my first set of drums, for Christmas. I sometimes wonder how much my family wished that hadn't happened. I'm not sure how old I was when I got my first set, or how much I "practiced" either. I'm sure it was fairly often, as I seem to recall some of my siblings constantly gnashing their teeth and pulling at their hair. But hey, it was the 60's that just seemed normal. What did I know?

I went the concert band, marching band, and the jazz band route. The director basically said - "this is a snare drum, these funny little black marks are "notes," - I've got to teach all these other kids what scales are. Hit it when I tell you to, and stop when I tell you to." Towards then later part of my high school years, my parents bought me another, bigger, set of drums. This kept me going, and I stayed in the band, until the end of high school.

After high school, I pretty much packed my drums up, and didn't touch them again for 10 years. I had gotten married and later purchased a home. It was only after I had purchased a home, and had a place to put my drums, that I started playing again. I seem to recall that I started practicing again, quite often. Not too long after that, I got divorced.

In 1996, I answered an online post for some younger guys who had started a band, and were using a drum machine. They said that they were gainfully employed, as I was, and some were married. That sounded good to me, since "Starving Musician" had never been a career goal of mine. The band was / is named "Clementine."

I used to work as a computer operator, and met Rob Dwyer. And found out that he played bass guitar and other instruments. We also worked with some very funny, entertaining people. But you know how good times are - they don't last. Rob and I remained friends.

I eventually changed jobs, and started working in technical support. This is how I met Marc Howell, who plays guitar. Over the course of a few years, I was still playing in Clementine, and we found ourselves in need of a guitarist. I talked it over with the guys in Clementine, Nathan and Greg, and they wanted to have Marc come over and sit in. After about 2 minutes of listening to Marc play, Nathan and Greg both agreed with me that Marc definitely lived up to his name - "Thunder Axe." It was determined then and there that Marc should be sworn in as a full fledged member of our troupe, and would be entitled to the same rights and consideration afforded to us. Not a damn, thing. Oh well, we did get paid in beer, once.

This is where the "English-ter" entered the picture. Steve invaded the US back in 2002 - and started working in technical support, with Marc and I. He found out that Marc and I both were members of Clementine, and mentioned that he played guitar and would like to play sometime. Well, I knew someone who played bass guitar - Rob Dwyer - and gave him a call. He said that he would like to give it a try and we started jamming. It was apparent that there was some great chemistry and we were having a lot of fun.

At that time, Marc and Rob were sharing singing responsibilies. They did a good job, but singing lead didn't allow them to be as good on guitar and bass as they could be.

Well, I've known Greg for quite a number of years, too. And I recalled him saying that he used to sing in a band. I told the guys about Greg, and they were very interested in having him come over and sing. Well, after a few minutes of Greg singing, we knew that we had another member of this, yet unnamed, band. We taught Greg the secret handshake, and started practicing very regularly.

This naming of the band - the months-long process - to be continued. - Marty