Believing Your Own Bullshit

The beginning of 2011 would take a toll, as the back-and-forth trips from Brooklyn to Long Island became necessary in polishing our sound as a band. With 75% of the band scattered throughout the small towns of LI, it only made sense that the responsibility of traveling would fall on me. My weekly visits took the shape of 6-hour rehearsals, between the two studio locations we had grown accustomed to. The performances became more frequent, and the pouring in of compliments quickly began to inflate my ever-growing ego. “You sound just like Brandon Boyd” would come to be the quote synonymous with free alcohol. As people praised my vocal ability, which in hindsight was subpar, I started to see myself as a “rock and roll frontman”. With a bottle in my hand, I pondered the possibility of making a living as a tribute act, and the marketing value I added to the band, including graphics, a website, and an app, made our rookie season an MVP run. The tribute scene quickly became aware of our presence, and with offers of joint performances flooding our inbox, we became the talk of the town. Being from Brooklyn was the added seasoning that helped cook my experiences to perfection. Who was this tall, lanky, Puerto Rican kid from the projects of Bushwick? More so, how did he come to sing Incubus so well? I baffled patrons with my existence, who couldn’t see the correlation between urban life in the city, and rock and roll. Yet, with all this going on, I walked into every venue, fully expecting to feel worship by night’s end. They were drunk, and they wanted live Incubus. So with every breath, I gave it to them.

Similar Posts