Fiesta Time... born on the dust trodden path of 24th street. Once upon a time on a hot summers day in 2006... We had just returned from our annual summer vacation to our humble abodes with nothing much to do. Little did we know that this discreet boredom would soon push us into a new realm of being. You see it is only when your mind succumbs to boredom and blankness that it truly releases all inhibitions and unique ideologies can runeth forth as water over the fall. And thus such were the conditions that hot summer's day, that is to say boredom was complete. So there we were in our humble abode that morning consuming a little food here, plucking some guitar strings there, when it happened: the magnificent brass trumpet was picked up by unsuspecting Ben. And now we were readily armed for our future endeavors which were to come, because we now possessed all of the key elements needed to form something so pure and unattainable under normal circumstances: boredom, open minds, a trumpet, guitar, our vocal cords, masks/costumes/wigs, and thus the ability to create sound waves. Our necessary elements had been achieved and now the boredom and blankness that permitted this accomplishment (and would also provide further for us) now gave us an opportunity to vent our sizzling, bottled emotions. And so we proudly did as we wielded our newfound musical abilities. That is until the final action took place that pushed our immature vented emotions into fully fledged form: we were kicked out of the house. The household mother's eardrums, immature and developed as they were, could not handle this newly creating superior sounds that were rippling through every fold of her well kept house. And thus we were kicked out. out. out. But this unforeseen act left our still primordial music a chance to grow. We had a whole neighborhood to conquer, to buffet with sounds we had acquired form what seemed like lightning freshly caught in a bottle. We marched out. Out of the house. Each not caring what instrument he picked up as he left the threshold. We also each carried with us the masks and get-ups we had found from within. We left. We Marched. The park. The Street. On. We continued. Only after fully traversing the entire neighborhood and exposing them to our brilliance did we pause for a rest. And as we rested we contemplated our now fully developed form of music that had been unleashed that hot summer's day upon the world. We had unknowingly become a band, yet not just any band, a band to not only rival but rupture all previously determined standards for which music was to be created. We were then, are, and will be the one and only Fiesta Time. As this story comes to a close I hope that as you listen to our unadulterated, superior music that you can truly feel a deeper connection to it, and that you can enjoy immensely. Because how often does such music as this, such a thing as feeling FRESHLY caught lightning come to be a possibility? ... I would say never. THE END