The Promise was not a lame ass pop metal band, ala Poison, Warrant, Ratt... blah blah.  It was too bad that we showed up just at the time when everyone in LA wanted to be in such a pathetic type of outfit as that.  Still, there was the underground scene. 
There was Gaslight, Ragi's, Club with No Name, English Acid and a handful of other clubs that had progressed beyond that standard.  We worked ourselves into a publishing deal and a few other half-hearted industry situations, but it got to the point where The Promise was going no further.

After a bit of shuffling of the cards, I ended up in a new band... we were called HEAD.  The lineup was me singing (sans guitar), Pete Sjostedt (Promise) on guitar, Bob Kiah on Bass and a Boston transplant to LA by the name of Dennis McCarthy playing the drums.  We were such a hot band.  Before we had ever played a live show, we had record companies knocking on the door. 
We played the big showcase, met with the higher ups, were "promised" the moon and the sun, but;  after waiting for two years... nothing came of it.  It got to the point where rehearsals became a drag.  All of the work and quick progress we had made turned into nothing.  Instead of signing HEAD as their first band, the A&R folks decided that it would be more financially prudent to release an album of Ozzy cover tunes by established bands than to take a risk on an unknown.  HEAD was pretty much done at this point.  The only money that we ever made as a band was selling the rights of the name "HEAD" to Tina Weymouth and Jerry Harrison for their tour without David Burne as "The Heads".  Cest La Vie.

At this point, I was looking for something else.  I happen to possess mad computer skills, so I found myself in a start-up computer game company called Blue Sky Entertainment doing 3D animation, sound design, layouts for packaging and magazine ads, etc, etc.  We produced a game in the same vein as Myst (circa 1993), shopped it to the powers that be, and ended up with a check in the bank that amounted to almost a million dollars.  Things looked as if they would work out well; however, one of the partners turned out to be such a total ass that the rest of the crew couldn't even stand being in the same room with him.  His bad business decisions essentially killed the whole enterprise and the entire crew left him for dead on the same lame ass east coast of Florida that he had led us to.  The good part that came of this debacle was that I met one of the best friends of my whole life... Duce Vines.

The picture of the jar of water at the grand canyon portrays Duce's hand.  The water came from the Atlantic Ocean on the beach in front of my condo at Sabastian Inlet.  I have always wondered if the Atlantic had ever enjoyed such a view before.  We both knew from the beginning of that whole ill-fated project; that we would bail when things got insufferable.  Thanks to the 3rd member of the team and his complete lack of being a cool person, we left all the bullshit behind in 1996 and headed back to sunny California.  Florida sucks.... for all of you who were wondering...  Continue on to the LA Part 2 Page.

Los Angeles Part 1