Welcome to TequilaTom.com!
Tequila Tom is originally from the Jersey Shore, migrating south to sunny Florida in 2003. Primarily a guitar player, he started playing professionally in the early 90's with a friend's rock band. Realizing there were other routes to be taken, he began working on a solo/duo act. Initially using backing tracks to perform with, he performs primarily acoustic these days. The tracks are still around, depending on the venue, song and crowd.
Once the move to Florida took place, the demand for more Buffett/tropical music became apparent. The act, which tends to be very audience interactive, took on a more tropical attitude. Songs about boats, beaches and bars abound, along with drinking and dancing opportunities for all involved.
Tequila Tom promises a good time will be had by all, a day full of singing, dancing and mostly.... laughing. Hell, isn't that the point?
Introduction
Here's the deal... right off the bat you understand that this is going to take more than a couple of minutes to read. You clicked on the button that said "The Long Version". My recommendation is to print this out and wait until the next time you're headed for a lengthy bathroom visit. It should turn out to be a slightly more interesting read than the Colgate toothpaste tube. Until recently, I also was not aware that tetrasodium pyrophosphate was an inactive ingredient in this wonderful modern day miracle. Wow, educational and good for you.
Throughout this story I will weave a combination of non-fiction and fiction, mostly the former. The need for fiction is analogous to using salt on momma's meatloaf. Some things just need a little extra flavor every now and then, especially momma's meatloaf.
These days, I reside in sunny Cape Coral Florida. I would draw you a map, but do not have the ability to draw anything but a sickly looking Snoopy and that turtle on the inside of a matchbook cover. What was his name??
I figured if I could draw that turtle, I could become a real artist one day. I still struggle with the thought that that Art School might have been a scam. To Quote John Cougar Mellencamp, "Just like everything else those crazy old dreams just kinda came and went."
As it turns out, I didn't want to be an artist at all. I just liked playing with matches. That darned turtle turned out to be nothing but disappointment and heartache on every level for both myself AND my family. Boy, we sure do miss that house!
Back to Cape Coral, my current city of residence. Cape Coral is 40 square miles of wetlands, made usable by some bastard digging canals all over the place. This drained the wetlands, while making it impossible to get anywhere quickly. Every 4 blocks there is a canal that you can't drive over, creating the need to find an alternate route. Thank you, whomever.
More specifically, Cape Coral is 2 hours south of Tampa, one hour north of Naples, a $1 bridge ride west of Fort Myers and the Caloosahatchee River. Damn those indians for making me look up how to spell river.
If you still need a map to find me, I apologize. I used to have one but I needed it to start a campfire.
Cape Coral was a very affordable town to live in not too long ago. Like the rest of S.W. Florida, real estate since about 2003 / 2004 is going through the roof. Poor working musicians... man, there's an oxymoron, working musicians, can't even afford the land anymore, let alone to put a house up on it. My friend Symon suggested we write a song regarding affordable housing. Basically it's the nice portable bathrooms they throw on a property while the house is being built. I wonder what kind of rate you can get on a 30-year loan for a Port-a-Potty. All righty then, let's talk about something really important... Me!
The Early Years
Now remember earlier I said we might have to add some salt to Mamma's meatloaf? Well here it comes. Having been forced and beaten with a wooden spoon to take guitar lessons at the age of 13 by my wicked stepmother, I had no choice but to practice for 3 hours a day, 7 days a week. Despite the nightmares and pain inflicted upon me by such brutal treatment, I came to love both my guitar and my wicked stepmother.
Unfortunately, I don't need to look for my lost shaker of salt for this next segment. Fact truly is funnier than fiction. Most of my early guitar playing years were spent torturing family, friends, pets and neighbors with off-key, out-of-tune, eardrum piercing garage band renditions of "Stairway to Heaven", "Freebird", "Cocaine", and "Sweet Home Alabama". That's it. Four songs repeated over and over for three hours at a time. Luckily the shortest song is about 5 minutes long with the longest song being approximately 9 minutes. This translated into our entire Green Grove Road neighborhood only having to listen to each of the 4 songs approximately 6 times a night during a 3 hour rehearsal. The day I accidentally burned the garage down was a tragic one for Green Grove Road.
My Awakening
As to spare you some time, I will fast-forward a bit. ( I heard that remark!) Somewhere around 1990, I got to hear this guy play in a great bar called The Norwood Inn, in Avon N.J.. For those of you not familiar with Avon, it is a one square mile beach town along the Jersey Shore. Avon is pronounced with a soft A, not like the make-up lady. That's how we differentiate between the locals and the bennies (tourists). It was in this town that I got drunk for the very first time, a most momentous occasion in any six year-olds life. I forget how old I was, honestly. Hell, I was DRUNK!!!!! Avon is where I spent much of my misguided youth, wasting days on it's ever eroding beaches, getting tanned, chasing girls, fishing, and dumping every quarter I could get my hands on into any pinball and Pac-man machine I could find. Sorry, once again I allowed myself to be side tracked. Let me get back to the Norwood Inn.
So here I am in the middle of this packed bar in the middle of Avon, in the middle of the state in the middle of the summer at the Jersey Shore. Here's this guy up on stage, just himself, an acoustic guitar and a microphone, rocking the house. His name is Paul Cilinski, and can still be seen at the Jersey Shore to this day. It was the moment in time when I watched money flying into his tip jar while he is slamming shots of tequila being bought for him between smiling at flashing naked breasts that I knew EXACTLY what I wanted to do when I grew up. How he kept this secret from me for all those years is a complete and total mystery to me. Damn you, Paul Cilinski!
At the same moment a beautiful breast was almost a cheap thrill away from me, I knew I was ready to throw my extensive education from the prestigious Neptune Township school system along with two and a half years of highly acclaimed electronics schooling right down the drain to pursue my new dream of breast-ogling, shot drinking, tip making, guitar playing song singer guy. Somewhere between a bottle of Heineken and a shot of Apple, I determined that it would be a good time to call my boss and declare my lack of intention to ever show up at work again. I had two things working in my favor that night. Firstly, cell phones were still far from main stream. Secondly, I was drunk and couldn't remember his phone number. Monday was a major let down and relief all at the same time.
In those days I was working in Manhattan, commuting from the Jersey Shore. This only took an hour and forty five minutes each way. Three and a half hours a day well spent. Do you have any idea how much happy hour time in Florida that equates to per day at half price drinks??? Do the MATH!!!!!! Ughhh. My job in New York was as part of a team of guys designing, programming, troubleshooting, fabricating and starting up fire alarm systems in such buildings as World Trade Center Six, and The Grand Hyatt Hotel. I had decided after seeing Paul Cilinski that this day job thing sucked. I was ready to lay back a bit and be a little less responsible. For those of you who know me, imagine the concept of me being responsible for the life-safety of countless thousands. Hang on, I need to crack a beer. I'll be right back. O.K., I am ready to move on. Man am I ready to move on.
The Reality
Let me just say that things did not progress quite as quickly as I would have liked. I made up every excuse in the world as to why I wasn't playing out. The truth was simple... pure terror of the thought of playing and singing in front of people. Now even I realized that this might be an issue, if I really intended on doing this professionally. It's like a guy saying, "Man I could be a surgeon, but the blood & guts just creep me out."
At some point I was in a band with my brother from another mother, Eamonn Patrick Ryan. Eamonn forced me to play in front of people. I forced myself to drink to relax and enjoy myself. A lot of forcing was taking place. While working with the band in the mid 90's I also began work on the solo project, programming background music, purchasing equipment and fabricating more excuses as to why I was not performing solo. Originally dubbed "Tequila Tom and the Nowhere Band" it was going to be myself, a guitar and my imaginary band that I had programmed. Until I met... "The Worm".
The Worm, more commonly known as Len Konick, is the guitarist I can only hope to be one day. His style, chops and tone have been well honed over the years. He forced me to step up my guitar playing. Again in the face of such adversity, I forced down more beers. Oh the humanity. Len and myself clicked pretty quickly and started working on a duo act. If I could be half the perfectionist that The Worm is, I could be president. My dearest Aunt Dot used to say to me "Tom, you're not a procrastinator, you're a perfectionist. You don't want to do something until you can do it perfectly. That's why it takes you so long to get things done." I just thought I was lazy. I love my Aunt Dot. One of these days I'll tell her. Anyway, so you get the point. I'm lazy, Len's a perfectionist. It made for an interesting duo.
While I was working with The Worm, I took some vocal lessons from this woman who turned out to be an opera singer. She has done Lincoln Center and Carnegie Hall. Thankfully, I did not know this before my first lesson or else I would never have rung her doorbell. She was nothing like one's vision of an opera singer. We often conjure up an image of a larger man or woman. Not Cynthia. She was hot. There was this one time... Oh wait, that letter I have to send to Penthouse, not you guys... I remember some of the basics of what she taught me. What I got mostly out of my time with her was confidence, more than anything else. She let me know that I could sing in front of other people. Thank you, Cynthia. The last check is in the mail.
It's about damn time!
Back to me and The Worm. Finally we get some bar work. It started out a little rough, as off times new projects do. Soon enough we were a finely tuned, well oiled piece of machinery humming along nicely. Inevitably in the music business, once a project reaches this level of perfection, it's time for it to crumble into many little pieces, or in our case, two pieces, The Worm and Myself. Bummer, man.
Once again, I am at a crossroad. Do I find another duo partner or go solo? After several disastrous duo attempts, the answer was clear. It's time to go at it alone. No back up, no partner to tell jokes to when there are only 3 people in the bar, none of whom are listening to you. Just me, a guitar, a microphone, oh yeah, and all of my "cheating the people" backing tracks.
Anyway... I finally did it. I started playing with myself... wait, let me re-word that. Maybe I should have said I started playing alone, solo, just me, no partner. Something along those lines would have been better.
Movin' On
Once I moved to Florida, I started looking for music work here. I had already secured day job employment in the fire alarm industry that I had been bitching about for almost TWENTY YEARS. Little by little it started to happen locally down here, playing in several bars right in the marina where I was living. Next thing I knew I had a regular Friday and Saturday night. It never was my intention to play music full time.
I have always considered this to be part time work for some extra money. It was always my fear that if it ever became a situation that my income depended on it, it would be like a job. The day I dread going to play music is the day I give it up for money.
As my fortieth birthday came barreling down on me not too long ago, it was time to make some serious decisions. Now anyone who knows me would immediately see the humor in that. My idea of a serious decision is bleu cheese or ranch on my chicken wings while staring at Hooter's Girls. How can one possibly make an intelligent, educated decision such as this while being surrounded by such incredible distractions?
Ok, back to the birthday. My 40th birthday was my last day of full time alarm work. To all in attendance, thank you for an incredible party. Thanks to all of the pictures, I'll be able to recall it for years! Immediately after the party, I began part time work, while picking up more music work at the same time. Eventually I just stopped doing the day job and started playing music full time.
My days are now spent working on music, writing songs, swimming and fishing. At night, well then it's time to go to work. In 2002, had you told me I would be living in Florida playing music full time at the age of 40, I'd have given you the finger and told you to seek therapy. I can only imagine what the future holds!
Tequila Tom
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