Hey! This ain't no bio lesson!  Settle down kiddies.  Time for a story...get that gin n' tonic n' cocoa ready...

Once upon a time, a little boy, no more than five years old, named Scotty Morris, watched his older brother come home from school, carrying a bright 'n' shiny trumpet. Just like a good little brother, he kept his little paws off of it, just like he was told.
 

Well, when everyone was looking, anyway.
 

But, left to his own devices, he would sneak into older bro's room, and blow his little heart  out.  And had he not been posessed by the spirit of Louis Armstrong one fateful night, no one would have been the wiser.  Oops.

His secret out, he was given a horn of his own.  All was well.

Until....

...he got braces.  Bye bye trumpet.

Undaunted, he played whatever he could, from the piano to the guitar. Time passes, and he heads off to The Musicians Institute in Los Angeles to study all the tech-y stuff that needs to be learnt to be a *proper* Voodoo Daddy.
 

And then, the '80's hit.  Oy.

And rocker Scott was born.  But more importantly, someone saved some pics...oh, and learn yourself a little something while giggl...I mean, observing the art.

But, as the years wore on, our man Scotty got bored and disillusioned - it's not fun playing other people's stuff!  So, after a few years with FC and a brief stint with The Rain ('nother band), he owned and worked in a surf shop along with his older brother...the one that owned *the* trumpet.  I imagine he got over it.

Welcome to the '90's.  And hey, meet Kurt.

And his friend Dirk...

And his friend Andy...and Jeff...

And hey, there's this guy named Glen...who has this friend named Karl...and another guy named Josh comes along...
 

Hey, I think we've got ourselves a band, folks.  Think it'll swing?
 
 
 

*extra drinks and many, many thanks to Jim Barr, Erich Burkhard, Alternative Press and Swingtime Magazine for all the hints, info and pics*

hoooome...