In the late 90s and early 2000s, I was deeply immersed in the Philadelphia folk scene, fronting a band called Gypsy Killers. It was a time of raw energy, endless gigs, and the kind of restless creative spirit that defines an artist’s early years.
The name Gypsy Killers had always felt powerful to me, and I want to share the story behind its origin and an unexpected literary connection that adds even more depth to it.
Before the band, my journey had already taken a few sharp turns. I had dropped out of a prestigious theater conservatory in Pittsburgh, PA, and hopped on a Greyhound bus bound for Los Angeles. I spent my early troubadour years busking on Hollywood Boulevard, soaking in the stories, characters, and music that would shape my songwriting. By 1995, I found myself back home in South Jersey, diving headfirst into the local music scene. That’s when Gypsy Killers was born.
We played up and down the Philadelphia circuit, bringing an edge to the folk and singer-songwriter scene. Our sound carried influences from the alternative and grunge era but stayed rooted in storytelling and melody. It was a time of late-night shows, basement jam sessions, and that indescribable feeling of being on the cusp of something big.
During this influential period of my early life, I founded PhillyScene.org, one of the first Philly music websites dedicated to local bands, venues, reviews, listings, and more. With the support of the band, I also recorded my first album, One Precious Stride, at Westerland Studios, capturing the essence of those formative years in music.
In Geography of a Horse Dreamer, Sam Shepard’s 1974 play, he crafts a surreal and darkly comedic exploration of creativity, control, and exploitation. In this story, a kidnapped cowboy named Cody possesses the ability to dream up winning racehorses, and his captors seek to profit from his gift. Shepard’s world is one of desperation and absurdity, where dreamers are exploited for their abilities and the lines between reality and myth blur.
The play features a darkly humorous reference to gypsies who go around killing cover bands—a surreal and biting commentary on originality versus imitation in art. This bizarre, almost prophetic idea struck a chord with me, reflecting my own artistic philosophy of forging something new rather than replicating what’s already been done.
Drawing from my early readings of Sam Shepard’s work and my unique perspective on original material and songwriting (not cover bands), I came up with the name Gypsy Killers. In his 1974 play Geography of a Horse Dreamer, there’s a bizarre and darkly comic reference to “gypsies who go around killing cover bands.” It felt like the perfect nod to my approach—embracing originality and rejecting imitation—while also carrying Shepard’s signature grit and surrealism.
Looking back, it feels fitting. The band, much like Shepard’s world, lived in the space between reality and myth—gritty, unpredictable, and always pushing boundaries. Though the Gypsy Killers era eventually came to an end, its spirit lives on in the music, in the stories, and in the strange, poetic echoes of a play written decades before we ever took the stage.
And maybe, just maybe, we dodged the fate of those cover bands Shepard warned about.