I moved from Louisville, Kentucky, to Phoenix in June of 1996 with a box of clothes, a black Mexican Stratocaster, a stereo boombox, and $400. I checked into a rundown motel room on Grand Avenue with paintings of Spanish bullfighters on the walls.

The next morning, I applied for a telemarketing job and made a Musicians-Wanted ad: “Glam/Punk Guitarist Available.”

Nobody answered. Truthfully, I wasn’t a very good guitar player back then.

But I did have Jeff Dahl’s phone number.

Jeff Dahl was a big indie punk guy on Triple X Records with a following in Europe and Japan. Back in Kentucky, I had been ordering his cassettes and CDs from mail-order ads in Maximum Rocknroll magazine.

I eventually called Jeff. He invited me to play bass with him, which was a little strange considering I had moved to Phoenix thinking I was a guitar player.

I figured if you can play guitar, you can play bass.

In 1997, I lived at the Desert Star Apartments in North Phoenix and drove a copper 1980 Honda Prelude. It had more than 300,000 miles on it and a Motörhead bumper sticker on the back. 

A few weeks later, Jeff fired me.

I couldn’t keep my car running long enough to reliably get to band practice.

After Jeff fired me, I started working a lot of overtime at the Hamilton-Sundstrand aerospace factory, and my drinking career took off.

For three years, absolutely nothing happened.

I worked. I drank.

But at least I dressed like a rock star.

I spoke to Jeff on the phone on Thanksgiving Day 1999, while Dallas Cowboys whipped the Miami Dolphins, and he asked me to play with him again.

We launched in January 2000 and this time I kept the gig. 

After a couple of acoustic duo shows, we played our first full-band gig at Desert Trash Blast at Nita’s Hideaway in Tempe.

Don’t try to find it. A Target stands there now.

We played the Confederacy of Scum Supershow in Las Vegas and shows in Hollywood. I still remember the first time I walked down Hollywood Boulevard carrying a guitar case. For a guy from Kentucky who had arrived in Phoenix a few years earlier with $400 and a Stratocaster, that meant something.

We made an album called Back to Monkey City, which got a glowing review from David Fricke in Rolling Stone magazine. Issue 1066. November 27, 2008.

In December 2005, while I was still playing with Jeff, I joined a Phoenix cowpunk band called The Earps.

That’s where I became Buckshot George. It’s a Young Guns 2 reference. 

Hotwheels McGregor gave me the name because he thought Jason Smith was too common and forgettable.

He had a point.

Over the next five years, we made two albums and did several tours around the Rockies. There was plenty of fun and the usual band drama along the way, but by 2010, I was ready for something different.

I packed up and moved back to Kentucky.

Buckshot George came with me.

Back in Kentucky, I spent the next five years playing with a locally successful country-rock band called the Moonshine Millionaires. I also occasionally backed Ricky Rat from Detroit’s Trash Brats in the Ricky Rat Pack.

After the Moonshine Millionaires disbanded, I had trouble finding my place. I played a few shows on bass with Nine Pound Hammer, but eventually I decided to go solo.

I started busking on street corners.

I was nervous the first time I went busking, but I quickly realized I could bring the punk dive to the sidewalk.

I made some tips. It led to some gigs.

Today, I busk. I play acoustic solo shows in bars and restaurants. I play assisted living facilities. I have a cover band called The Buckshot George Band and a punky rock & roll band called Distillery Dogs. Sometimes I perform singing telegrams. Sometimes I host an open mic.

It’s not exactly where I thought rock & roll would take me when I got off the bus in Phoenix with $400 and a guitar.

But I’m still here.

And I’m still playing.