Back in 1990, I was a college student at the University of South Florida in Tampa. I’d played bass in a series of garage bands in the late eighties and frequently visited two of my favorite music stores on Hillsborough Avenue: Paragon Music and Thoroughbred Music.

I would save money from mowing lawns and working jobs at places like Little Caesars, Wendy’s, and the Fraternal Order of Police. When I had a couple hundred bucks in my hands, I would head to Paragon or Thoroughbred, take some nice bass guitars off the wall, and plug them into one of the amps on the floor. I could spend hours just noodling around, playing my interpretations of tunes by Deep Purple, Black Sabbath, and The Who.

On one particular Saturday, I stepped into Paragon and noticed a bulletin board covered with musicians’ want ads. I stood there reading them and was drawn to one sheet that said, “Bass Player Wanted.” The influences I recall ranged from Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline to U2, The Who and Marvin Gaye.

The tear-off tabs at the bottom had the name Bo and a phone number. I was intrigued, so I tore one off.