Jay was born on November 21st 1947. Another Baby Boom boy, born drinking the post war nuclear fallout milk in the suburbs of Washington D.C. He grew up playing drums, first in the school band, then in a drum corp for the Brentwood Majorettes, finally in a little swing band that played Lions Club dances.

Then Kennedy, Coltrane, Dylan, Martin Luther King and Vietnam blew that world all to hell. So that in 1967 he was in Haight Ashbury, AWOL from the Navy, listening to Sgt. Pepper, tripping for the second time in his life. Only now instead of pure Sandoz LSD it's an aberrant brew from the outlaw chemist, Stanley Oswley, called STP: two days of a complete takeover of perception by imagination, an unrelenting home invasion of the mind by the unconscious.

Two hours into it, Jay jumped out a window trying to follow God, who had just left the room. He came down two days later, a quadriplegic in the Oakland Naval Hospital across the Bay from San Francisco. He knew Hell real well but he had seen the real Light and had heard the Dead and the Airplane in the park and now had a sound writhing alive, singing in his imagination.

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