Based on the questionable memories of Stanley Leroy Erhart...

Early '50s: Born in a KC, Missouri hospital one rainy icy night in February because the Kansas hospitals were too full to admit Mom (evidently Mom was not exhibiting urgency signs). I began the growing process with two parents and three brothers in a small uninsulated home on a farm outside Kansas City, KS. The family super 8 movies indicate that snakes considered our porch to be within bounds, which of course excited the dogs to no end. There are other movies of extended family and friends shearing sheep, chopping Christmas trees, playing ball, attending church, and driving big cars and trucks. The camera was stolen by the time my memory was in working order, but there was apparently a lot going on when I arrived. Though I didn't know it at the time, it wasn't a bad place to be.

Mid '50s: The Erhart clan moved one mile east to a one bedroom home resplendent with outhouse and cistern. Dad continued farming the ground owned by our former landlady ("Old Lady Foster" as we affectionately called her). Our house was subsequently enlarged several times and eventually yielded running water and an indoor bathroom, although it was many years before running water was piped in by the county. Regular trips with a wagon and water tank were made to nearby springs to keep the cistern operational.

Early '60s: At age 12 or thereabouts, I began lessons on the baritone horn (I wanted to play a trumpet, but we already owned the baritone). I sounded horrible. Dad one evening said I played something that sounded like music, but I'm sure he was being generous. During those interesting years, I was loaned a guitar for a short time and went through a couple of Mel Bay books. I loved the look of Mel's Gibson guitar that was used for chord illustrations.

Footnote: Dad wooed Mom by getting stuck in a mud puddle and playing harmonica to her. This happened in front of her family's farm house and he was invited to stay the night by her brothers. Considering the innocent times they lived in, I found this story odd. Nevertheless, I tend to believe it. I grew up hearing Dad play "Red River Valley", "Buffalo Gals" and other folk tunes on the harmonica, and he was good. Mom played violin in high school, but didn't retain an instrument I could ever find.

Late '60s: During my senior year in high school I fought with the band director over boring material, or something equally inane, and quit the high school band. Being a teenager, I lost interest in music while dating, working, and driving '60s muscle cars. My first car was a used '64 Olds Cutlass with a 330 V8, 4 barrel carb, bucket seats and a Muncie 4 speed. Dad loaned me part of the money to buy this beautiful machine, probably because our family loved Oldsmobiles and Buicks. I'm not sure I ever paid him back. Gas was cheap and I'd sometimes go through two tanks a day. Teenagers lead complicated lives.

Early '70s: I enrolled at the local community college and joined the college band playing baritone horn again. I switched from an accounting/math focus to an art major because people in the art department were having more fun (I still think that was a good reason). One evening, I surprised myself and everyone else at a party by playing a few notes on a borrowed flute. With my next tax return, I bought a pawn shop Artley flute ($50) and learned the intro to "Stairway to Heaven". Wow, pretty cool. Then I saw Jethro Tull's "Thick as a Brick" concert and realized you needed to do more than blow a few notes. Soon, four of us were renting a run-down house in KC, MO so we could "get the band together". We even practiced sometimes, much to the annoyance of our neighbors. Further inspiration arrived in the form of friends who actually had talent and I started taking saxophone and theory lessons from a local teacher.

Mid '70s: I decided to go back to school, applied at a small university in Michigan, and was accepted as a flute major in the K-12 Music Ed program. The department was heavily into classical music, which was not a bad thing, though intimidating. I did well in theory and tried to catch up in sight reading and performance. The word "Jury" took on a new meaning. I developed a fondness for the music building with all its pianos and pipe organs. Even to walk by it was cool with all the dissonance roaring from it as people practiced their arses off. It vibrated. Saturday nights I sang and played acoustic guitar in the college coffee shop and found myself constantly on the prowl for gigs and interesting musical situations. I still am. A turning point was reached when I ran into like minded students, Scott Newton and Steve Brandwein, two dorm-bound students from Chicago, who decided my off campus rental was a good place to hang out and write and practice. By my senior recital and graduation a couple of years later, we were playing gigs in Chicago area clubs such as Night Gallery and Point East, as well as clubs like Fat Wally's in South Bend, Indiana. We played a cold but fun keg party at Saint Mary's College, yacked our way through some college radio station interviews, and received FM radio air play for our originals. We had a great time.

Early '80s: The band was now a six piece and included Rick Kress on drums (the son of jazz guitarist Carl Kress), plus Steve Haraburda and Greg Errandi on guitars. I was dubbed "Miscellaneous Man" as I filled in the holes with keyboards, sax, flute, or guitar, and sang and wrote tunes. The Minneapolis based "Good Music Agency" (GMA) liked our demo of original tunes and "Who" and "Yes" covers and booked us on a Midwestern club tour. At the last minute, our recently married bassist stayed behind and we began the trip passing around bass duties. Everything sounded wrong and lacked punch, so we ended the tour early even though GMA was still behind us and promised a busy schedule as we tightened up. We landed in the western Chicago 'burbs licking wounds and seeking happiness in local gigs. I managed to build steady work as a guitar and wind instrument teacher and enjoyed various band incarnations with Burda, Scott & Greg. By accident, I was asked to join a popular local band "Risk!" as a utility man (another way to say "miscellaneous!"). We recorded "Baby When Your Love Comes Down" for the "Chicago Class of '85" album, a tune written by our guitarist, Jimi Kidd. Joey, John & Sam, the DeMarco brothers, were the core of "Risk!", and we had some great times playing clubs like the "Isn't It Lounge" in Downers Grove and "Malo's" in Aurora, IL. I can't think of Wayne's World without thinking of Malo's.

Footnote: During the several years I played with Jimi Kidd, I didn't know he was uncle and sometimes mentor to Paul Gilbert, probably because this was before anyone knew who Paul Gilbert was. In the late '80s, Paul Gilbert cofounded the heavy pop group Mr. Big along with Billy Sheehan after Paul left Racer X and Billy left the David Lee Roth Band. Paul Gilbert toured as part of Joe Satriani's 2007 G3 Tour (G307).

Mid '80s: I successfully eloped with my sweetheart despite having problems finding the courthouse. We soon quit sharing a house "with the guys" and lived for a year in Hillsdale, IL before relocating to San Mateo, CA in 1986 (my wife was raised in Mountain View and California has a strong pull on its natives). I met and became friends with more fine musicians, many of whom are still in the area. I continued to give music lessons and joined various bands playing in and around San Francisco. I got kicked out of one situation and began thinking of forming my own band. I started singing more and gave my guitar more attention than my saxophone.

Early '90s: As a singer/guitarist this time, I helped form Redwood City based "Fat Chance" with Gary Copeland & Jeff Miller, later adding Joy Asdoorian. We practiced in Gary's photo shop in Redwood City, a block from the RWC court house, and played regularly on the peninsula and coastside. There was a lot of cooperation in that band and it gave me an opportunity to try new things and find new strengths.

Mid '90s: My marriage ended and I moved to San Francisco to concentrate on music and work. I formed the trio "Hack Bondo", with Bob Waterman on bass and Brad Torres on drums, and started playing regularly again. In '97, we went into Mr. Toad's Studio in San Francisco and recorded a CD of 5 original tunes and 6 blues covers, which I distributed to local Tower Records stores. The Bit of Rhythm in Millbrae needed a new jam host, so I hosted their jam for the next year, met some excellent musicians (eg, Bruce Davidson & Paul Chandler), and started changing my sound. Some of the musicians I met during that time have become very busy musically. Bruce, a guitar force to be reckoned with, has unfortunately passed on. And despite forgetting to duck (or because of it) when an ash tray flew into my forehead one evening, I came out of that year a little wiser.

Late '90s: The original "Hack Bondo" members drifted away for other projects, so I changed the band name to "Stan Erhart & Hack Bondo" and printed new cards (gotta print cards). I met Michael Warren, who has since played bass with me on hundreds of gigs. The song list became more focused on Blues, R&B and Jazz. Gigs picked up as I found new venues and we continued to have fun. Life was pretty darn good.

The '00s: I dropped "Hack Bondo" as a band name, but kept it around as my production company and record company. We performed a bunch of openings for bands like Elvin Bishop, Tommy Castro, and Chris Cain, and began consistently playing over 100 shows a year. And despite my lack of interest in running a jam again (remember the ash tray?), I became the substitute host for the Old Princeton Landing Thursday night jam. After a couple of years of ups and downs, it was given to me to build or let die, at which point I made some changes to the format and it started working. In '06, Bob Wynkoop and I moved it to Sundays and it came to life. It has became one of my favorite things to do.

Now: I woke up this morning. Life is pretty darn good.