How a band named Harry Dash changed my life

If Radiohead and the Beatles had a lovechild that grew up to kick your ass and take your girlfriend, it would be Harry Dash.
Everyone can remember one moment that he/she felt alive, where that one spark fueled a true passion. My personal catalyst was an oddly-named band called Harry Dash.
Harry Dash is a local New Port Richey band that means “flash” or “cool” in British cockney slang. I had heard of the band quite a bit growing up, since they’ve been on the local Tampa band scene since the mid ’90s. Their amazing covers of songs such as Pink Floyd’s “Run Like Hell” and “Muscle Museum” by Muse, and the high energy sound of original songs like “Spies.” Not to forget the soulful, powerhouse vocals behind lullaby ballads and inspirational “get off your butt and do something” anthems such as “Tank.”
I was 16 and like many teenagers, trying to figure out exactly what I wanted to do with my life.









The self-abuse began this past Friday night, when I set out to, and I quote myself here, “get
Pete Yorn
Last year, Bradenton-based quintet 
I stumbled upon one of my favorite area bands while meandering through Ybor City several months back:
Bay area singer-songwriter David New picked up guitar as a kid, but never really got serious about being a musician until he was in his mid-20s.


Three rounds, nine bands, one fatty recording studio package for the winner. Yes, it’s a battle of the bands competition. Yes, I generally think these things are bullshit maneuvers staged by sponsors with questionable motives to get the word out on bands that no one really knows or cares about.
I don’t ever remember living without the Beatles. I grew up playing my mom’s vast collection of LPs, got to know the early, uncomplicated incarnation as a child, moved through the catalog to their later albums as I matured, and gained a new appreciation of songs I’d avoided or just didn’t get when I was younger: the morbid humor of “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer,” the not-so-subtle sexual innuendo of “Happiness is a Warm Gun,” the intense, simplistic beauty of “Across the Universe,” the ahead-of-its-time experimental flourishes and rhythms of “Tomorrow Never Knows,” the drawn-out groove and swagger of “I Want You (She’s So Heavy),” the psychedelic nonsensicalness of “I Am the Walrus.” John, Paul, George and Ringo were always there, and I’ve returned to the comfort of their music time and time again. (Pictured: The Beatles, 1969, [c] Apple Corps Ltd. 2009)



WMNF
I have a confession to make: I went to the 










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