Long ago, I was in a band called Gnome Dust. I wrote about that in this post from 2003: “The Drummer’s Story.”
Here are photos from that time we recorded a demo in a basement of an old building that used to be a church and our guitarist was literally in the furnace room: “Gnome Dust Recording in Bloomfield, NJ.”
And here are photos from the one and only gig we played: “Gnome Dust at the Wreck Room.”
I now live not far from where we used to rehearse. I regret losing touch with those guys and often wonder what they are up to. One of the guys had some heart issues. I always wonder how he’s doing. I don’t even know how to get in touch with any of them. Why do I let that happen in life?