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Stolen from my family by Gypsies while a child because I can clap with one hand, they taught me to play guitar and dance for spare change. Upon adulthood I escaped and was for many years a stock analyst on Wall Street. During a power lunch one day at the Waldorf, I was visited by a holographic technicolor epiphany: the ghost of Gram Parsons informed me that the children of our land were in dire need of rocking, and that only something akin to Webb Wilder fronting the Raspberries would save them. Thus, my life was born anew and my mission lay before me...
