Brandon Koeller, aka Hot Stuff
When you get right down to it, there are only a very few things that you need to know about Brandon Koeller to really ‘get’ him. And let’s be honest, you do want to know about him. You have felt that burning rumble in your guts, that invisible push to find out more, the urge to really grok the essence of Brandon. Eau de Brandon, if you will. You want to smell it. Taste it. Or, perhaps more accurately, you want to lick the purest puree of Brandon that you can. Chop him up and put him on some toast with butter, or honey, maybe cook up a brat, and add some sauerkraut, with stone-ground spicy mustard which has been made from the mustard plant that grows over some place where Brandon has walked. You want to eat at the trough of Brandon. Drink beer with a basket of Brandon-schwieger. You want to wear him like a mink coat in the dead winter of Minnesota. You want to know, you must know. And now all shall be revealed.
Brandon was born in September of 1973, very clearly a product of some New Years Eve debauchery on the part of his parents. He doesn’t resent them being debaucherous though; he claims that he is glad that his parents liked to get drunk and have sex. He owes his existence to New Years and booze. In any case, it was very clear from a young age that music was not something that Brandon had a shocking talent for. No, his talents were to lie dormant for many years until they emerged, butterflylike, from the white trash roots of his teen angst. His penchant for loud things, and obsession with all things that channeled his deeply held white man anger led him to the bass guitar. And, like nearly all beginnings, his bass playing was very humble. His first bass was a small no-brand country bass guitar that he proudly slapped a large ‘Thrasher’ sticker on. Armed with his thrasher-axe and his rad Peavy bass amp, he set out at the ripe age of 14 to learn every 80s heavy metal song ever written…. Ever. He did not succeed. But he did learn how to break strings — heavy flatwounds no less — and get his amp taken from him by his bandmates for being too loud, and not being especially responsible with the volume knob. After a time, though, Brandon passed through a period of time that he considers his musical dark ages, which lasted nearly as long as the actual Dark Ages. Don’t take that to mean that Brandon is old. Nay, were Brandon here, he might even say that he will forever be Youth Gone Wild (We stand and we won’t fall…we’re one and one for all…).
Then midlife happened. And we all know what midlife means. Thankfully, Brandon re-entered the world of bass playing with a passion like that of a thousand suns…if suns were full of passion. At the very least his passion burned in his hairless breast with the heat of a thousand hair dryers…set on medium heat. Passion in hand, Brandon found Ruby Shuz on Craigslist. They were near an ad for Ninjas, which Brandon assures me was an opportunity for ass kicking that he had a hard time passing up, but he passed up ninja-ass-kicking for the Shuz, and he is quite pleased with his choice. There will time enough for ninja-ass-kicking when he’s older, and perhaps wiser, and definitely when he is better looking, which should happen any day now.
If you ever see him at a show, ask him to tell you about the time that he found five bucks. And flirt with him as well. He likes that.