[Katerina Parkerinski]

Okay, if he isn't going to respond, I will just have to make something up 
while I burn data onto CD's on the other computer ...

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David was born Rainbow Woodwind in the back of a '65 VW microbus.  Devotees 
of the Greatful Dead, his parents, known as Equinox and Birdsong, lived a 
happy nomadic life on the road.  The Woodwind family was legendary on two 
accounts: they had been to more Greatful Dead concerts than Jerry Himself, 
and their all-organic tye-dye t-shirts were second to none.

The Woodwind family wandered far and wide for many years, vending tye-dyes 
and ragged bears, educating young Rainbow through the school of the road.  
Then one day, with the van rusting out and Jerry lapsed into yet another 
diabetic coma, the Woodwinds decided to take their show off the road.  By 
now their van had become such a classic, it was easily sold to a collector 
at auction for a substantial (and undisclosed) sum - enough money for 
Equinox and Birdsong to purchase a surfside storefront in Santa Cruz and 
vend their artworks to tourist and local alike.

Then one horrible day, the phase of the moon, the timing of the tide, and 
and ever so subtle shifting of the Cascadia subduction zone devistated the 
Woodwind's store.  In a brief microtsunami of cochineal, Birdsong and 
Equinox vanished in a deeply-hued organic wave, never to be seen again.

The grieving and wayward Rainbow, now a young man, quickly turned his back 
on his parents' hippy ways.  First he changed his name to David, so he could 
be like every other guy his age.  He then shed the hated birkenstocks he had 
recieved every year at the Winter Solstice Potlatch in favor of his first 
pair of trendy closed-toed sneakers.  Finally, he put aside his family name 
in favor of the considerably edgier Brass.  It was time for him to settle 
down, get a real job, buy furniture, and live like a normal person.

But it couldn't last.

One day young David discovered a band of his own choosing.  A band so 
fantastic, their live shows were said to convert mere fans to fanatics, 
intellegent people into raving lunatic maniacs tonally chanting like a 
football mob.  Soon, purchasing disc after disc of their major label 
releases would never be enough!  Trading rarities on the internet just 
couldn't cut it.  No.  David was called to return to his heritage, to hit 
the road, to get a nightly fix of live shows and record everything he could 
with the highest possible quality.  In a blink he sold everything, tapped 
the rest of the tye-dye mogul's forturne, and hit the road in pursuit of his 
very own band,Midnight Oil.

Now David spends his days following and recording the oils, a tidy nest egg 
from the tye-dye empire and the microbus funding his peripitetic ramblings.  
When the Oils are in Australia, as they most often are, David leases a 
suspended animation chamber, hibernating until the next tour brings him back 
to life.

And the powderworkers sing his praises, because he rarely misses a gig and 
he always shares.


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