One afternoon in October of 1979, smack in the middle of my dreams after a night on the graveyard shift, I was awakened by an insistent knocking on the door of my apartment. If it wasn't my old friend Danny, along with two guys I had never laid eyes on. One was carrying various pieces of drum set. The other held a bass.
Danny and I had been in a cover band together when I was in high school and he was just out. We had fallen out of touch for a few years. He had gotten married, tried to go straight and narrow, donated his guitar and amp to the church. As of late he'd been darkening my doorstep on a regular basis. I owned two guitars. I showed him some songs I'd written and we'd flail away at them for hours, Danny singing sweet harmony. Now what?
I stepped aside and they piled through the doorway and began to set up their equipment. Turns out the other two were brothers, Tim on drums and Greg on bass. We blasted away the afternoon. When a hazy dusk was falling over Canoga Park, I opened the front door for a breath of fresh air and the neighbors gave us a standing ovation. I thought, "This is it…We're bound for stardom." Man, was I ever wrong.
Things fall apart, as all things must. This record, if nothing else, says "The Moondogs were here."