Before Reality Showed Up Uninvited
Before the mortgages, before the careers, before everybody got sensible (or at least pretended to), there were three chords, a Marshall amplifier, Fender guitars, and a group of friends who were absolutely convinced they were destined for something extraordinary.
There was a time when Friday night meant loading musical equipment into a car, heading to a club, plugging in, turning everything up to eleven, and preparing to take over the world.
Or at least the room.
That was the world of West of Cairo.
We were a rock band with big personalities, bigger egos, questionable judgment, and an almost religious belief that the next gig was going to be the one that changed everything.
And honestly? Those were some of the best days of my life.
Meet the Band
West of Cairo was a family affair, which probably explains both our chemistry and our dysfunction.
My sister Monique was our lead singer. And when I say my amazing, crazy sister, I mean it in the most affectionate way possible. Monique had the personality, the attitude, and the stage presence to command a room. She wasn’t somebody who simply stood in front of a band and sang. She was the show.
On bass was our cousin Roge, affectionately known as “Happy Go Lucky.” Roge had his own way of approaching life, music, and just about everything else. At practice, he would play songs on the keyboards from John Lennon and that 80s band Squeeze.
Behind the drums was cousin Rich, better known as “Richy Karma” or, depending on the audience, “The Lady Killer.” Richy was a character in his own right. He brought the rhythm, the personality, and plenty of material for future songwriting. The dood could play drums, even bass too. The man was talented. He rocked
And then there was me.
Johnny Punish.
Guitar, backup vocals, songwriter, occasional observer of the madness, and probably the guy standing somewhere in the corner with a notebook trying to turn the whole circus into a masterpiece.
We had guitars, drums, bass, a powerful frontwoman, and enough personalities to fill a small convention center. This band should have been huge! I mean, what could possibly go wrong?
Las Vegas, Southern California, and the Friday Night Circus
We played the clubs around Las Vegas and Southern California, living inside that wonderful world of local rock music.
You know the scene. The clubs weren’t necessarily glamorous. The budgets weren’t enormous. Nobody was handing out million-dollar recording contracts at the door. But there was something magical about it.
The anticipation before a gig. The smell of the equipment. The sound of an amplifier warming up. The first guitar chord ringing through a room. The singer grabbing the microphone. The drummer counting everybody in.
For those few hours, nothing else mattered. We were kings of nowhere. Princes of the parking lot. Every girl looked dangerous. Every dream was red-hot. We had the same ambitions as every other young band: make great music, build a following, get noticed, and somehow turn this whole rock-and-roll adventure into a life. We didn’t have a particularly sophisticated business plan. We had three chords. And that seemed like enough.
The Characters Who Made the Legend
Of course, West of Cairo wasn’t just about the musicians. It was about the entire universe of personalities orbiting around the band.
- There was Kryptonite Moe, whose presence could apparently stop a room in its tracks.
- There were groupies and some guy named Bob looking for a job!
- There was Biv, floating through the haze with his own particular philosophy of existence.
- There was Brian Jay Strummer, still romanticizing the old days and the possibilities of rock and roll. He was from Brooklyn. He claimed he could play guitar and sing better than Tom Petty!
- And then there was the Sports Pub crowd. The prophets, the philosophers, the dreamers, and the occasional barroom revolutionary.
These were people who could spend an entire evening discussing what might have been, what should have happened, who deserved the credit, and why somebody else was probably responsible for everything that went wrong.
Everybody wanted credit. Everybody knew best. Everybody chased the spotlight. Nobody got much rest.
Looking back, I realize that these characters were every bit as important to the story as the band itself. They were the neighborhood mythology. The supporting cast in a movie nobody knew was being filmed. And I was watching it all happen.
Then Everybody Went Somewhere
Eventually, life started making its own arrangements. The band members began heading in different directions.
Monique left and went on to work with The Jacksons. Yes, THAT Jackson family. LaToya, Michael, and the whole Jackson universe. Impressive! She deserved it. She was great! Not exactly a bad next chapter for a girl who once stood in front of our little rock band.
Roge took off to pursue ice hockey. Apparently, there are only so many Friday nights a person can spend playing bass before the ice starts calling.
And Richy? Well, Richy went on to join an infamous religious band somewhere in Zimbabwe. They say he’s still lost in that jungle. I’ve heard rumors he now speaks in tongues with the 11 tribes of Israel deep in the deserts of Ethiopia.
I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.
And me?
I fled to the Caribbean. I went looking for paradise, freedom, and a place to put up a palapa where nobody could tell me what to do. LOL.
Different roads. Different dreams. Different lives. But somewhere along the way, West of Cairo became one of those stories that never really went away.
The Music Outlives the Moment
Years pass. People move. Clubs close. Neighborhoods change. Some of those old clubs are probably condominiums now. The dreamers have grown older. The equipment has disappeared into garages, storage units, and dusty boxes.
But every once in a while, something brings it all back. A familiar guitar sound. A certain drumbeat. A photograph. An old friend mentioning somebody’s name. And suddenly you’re right back there. You can almost hear the amplifier humming. You can see the Friday night crowd. You can remember the ridiculous conversations, the backstage drama, the big promises, and the feeling that something wonderful was just around the corner.
That’s what inspired me to write “Three Chords West of Cairo.” It’s not a documentary. It’s not a perfectly accurate historical account of every person, every night, or every questionable decision. It’s a song built from memories, characters, exaggerations, affection, and the beautiful chaos of those days. It’s about the people who made the experience what it was. It’s about being young enough to believe that anything was possible. And it’s about realizing that sometimes the journey itself was the greatest thing we ever accomplished.
Three Chords. A Thousand Stories.
I think there’s something universal about the local music scene. Somewhere, right now, there’s a group of friends loading guitars into a beat-up car, heading to a little club, convinced they’re about to become the next big thing. They’ll argue about the set list. Somebody will complain about the sound system. Somebody else will take too much credit. The singer will demand another rehearsal. And they’ll play their hearts out for twenty people. But those twenty people might remember that night forever.
Because that’s the thing about music. You don’t have to sell a million records to create something meaningful. You don’t have to headline an arena. You don’t even have to get your name on a marquee. Sometimes you just need a few friends, three chords, and a reason to turn up the amplifier. For a while, we had all of that. We were West of Cairo. And I’d do it all again tomorrow. Every glorious mistake. Every ridiculous argument. Every Friday night. Every impossible dream. One more crowded room. One more chance to break.
Because sometimes three chords become a lifetime of stories.
LISTEN: THREE CHORDS WEST OF CAIRO
I’ve turned those memories into a swaggering pop-rock anthem celebrating the band, the characters, the clubs, and the whole crazy adventure. Put on your headphones, turn it up, and take a little trip back in time.
THREE CHORDS WEST OF CAIRO — Johnny Punish
▶ WATCH THE SONG VIDEO ON FACEBOOK
Written and performed by Johnny Punish
Produced by Punish Studios
To Monique, Roge, Richy, and everybody who was part of that crazy little universe: thanks for the memories.
Three chords. One band. A thousand stories.
— Johnny Punish
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