Lucky Lucianni

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"I've seen that guy's name somewhere before."
That's how it usually starts when they pick up the flyer.
Then they come to the show.
They enjoy that show. It's fun. There's good music and good people and it seems like the bartender is pouring generous drinks all night long. They wonder where he's been all their life.
He's from San Jose. He's been here the whole time. Scuffling around the underground scene makin' noise for around half a decade now. Makin' moves and payin' rent.
Rockin' AND throwin' shows, freely dabbling in open mics, infiltrating college radio shows, traveling about the lands, battling MC's, and generally in a constant state of being "up to something."
And then they leave, fully satisfied and yet. still yearning. They tell their friends and coworkers about the Sampson-haired, racially ambiguous, razor-sharp-tongued lyricalminddestructionbeast that melted their face, blew their minds, and stole their hearts.
They want to take him home to meet their mother. And they are both afraid and intrigued by the probability that he will ravage her with violent animal passion. They dream about him in their nightmares.
Who is this man above men?
He is Lucky Lucianni.
(Who the hell are you?!)



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