|Nathan Asher And The Infantry
Raleigh, North Carolina, the early 1980's. A baby is born. It raises its small fist, wet with blood and embryonic fluid. Dark eyes, 9 pounds, bald. Nathan Asher. The room is bright, the air is cold. The umbilical cord is cut, and the singer lets out his first scream. The cry echoes, heavy with sadness and intensity. Grown women get hot flashes, and fall to the floor in fits of panic and uncontrollable sexual desire. Men become weary of their day jobs, something wells up inside of them. Their eyes grow distant, they look to the wilderness.
Seven blocks away, Dan Abbate kicks inside of his mother's belly. He kicks once. He kicks twice, testing the strength of his newly formed gigantic right ankle. The sound resonates, and grows into the bellowing thump of a bass drum. Neighbors lean in to listen. The thump grows in speed and intensity. His older brother, Nick, raps his fork on the table and begins to hum bass notes.
Hip-hop is invented. White people dance.
Now flash forward to the year 1993. George Bush I is President, the Seattle sound is about to hit the radio. Zoom in on four kids smoking stolen cigarettes in a basement. Lawson Bennett, Turner Brandon, Chris Serino, and Jay Cartwright III. Renegades. Social outcasts. They bring their keyboards, guitars and harmonicas with them wherever they go. True soul brothers, Jay and Lawson write piano and organ melodies that weave in and out of each other like the strands of a double helix. Turner's harmonica wails, fracturing the night into pieces. Guitar solos are played that strip the paint off of mini vans and regular sized vans. Chris Serino's fretting hand is a blur. The beginnings of a band. At such a tender age, they already enjoy inappropriately wearing sunglasses when it is dark out. Ten years down the line, the seven kids will meet as young adults in a cul-de-sac in North Raleigh. Something different will be born. Something greater than all of them: Nathan Asher and the Infantry.