| Biography
I once saw Kennedy play at Spaceland during his Maharishi, fire-eating, diet Red Bull and Ketamine phase. He snorted PCP on stage off of some hipster’s mesh trucker hat and then shot up cars in the parking lot!
-The Wall Street Journal Born Jack Kennedy to a father named John Wayne, Kennedy is a true American. After Kennedy dropped out of college, he got really into speed. We should go back earlier. Growing up in Thousand Oaks, California is the equivalent of Meursault’s imprisonment in Camus’ The Stranger. Clawing his way out of this abyss was Kennedy; singer, songwriter, rock star, motherfucker. Equal parts raconteur and provocateur, Kennedy is the consummate showman, a bit of PT Barnum, a dash of Rodney Dangerfield, a spoonful of Mark Mothersbaugh and a whole heaping helping of Benny Hill. Kennedy moved to Hollywood, CA where he spent many formative years working at the fabled Cherokee Recording Studios under the tutelage of rock greats Nick Venet (Bobby Darin, Beach Boys, Gene Vincent) and Andy Johns (Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, Mott the Hoople). He learned every aspect of the recording business, from how to mic a snare to how to score coke at 3:00 a.m. The years rolled on and Kennedy found himself living ocean side in the bourgeois hamlet of Santa Barbara. Here he was further able to apply his audio skills as the producer for a morning radio show. Kennedy became something of a local celebrity in Santa Barbara and enjoyed great quantities of white drugs and loose women. However, years of watching others with far less talent and far fewer ho’s "make it" in the music world was enough to rock Kennedy out of his meth-fueled and mammary-filled cave. Returning to the City of Angels began almost instantly to pay huge dividends for Kennedy. For one, he was able to found the Kennedy Space Station. More a laboratory than a recording studio, it was here that Kennedy yielded his self titled debut; one hell of a brilliant record. Playing nearly every instrument on every song on the record is an impressive feat, but it did not translate well in live situations. Kennedy knew he needed a band. A good band. A great band. A straight up rock and roll powerhouse that would leave the men jealous and the women soaking wet. This band, the self-monikered Kennedy is far more than your garden-variety derivative retro-rock outfit, it is fresh and vital, well studied, yet innovative. More importantly, it bowls the assembled audience right off of their feet. Think The Stooges meet The Stones with just a touch of KISS style showmanship. In Los Angeles, Kennedy can be found sharing the stage with Fiona Apple, Jon Brion, Elliot Smith, Tenacious D, Ozomatli, The Black Keys, Juliana Hatfield, Jimmy Eat World, and many other somewhat talented artists. Kennedy has quickly become a favorite among LA’s hipster illuminati. Crowd favorites include "Cold Pussy", an everyman anthem about going down to the morgue to fuck dead chicks, "Wake Up Motherfucker", a song so strikingly powerful that it can be used as both the show opener and closer, the oddly haunting "Brain In A Room", and Kennedy’s latest, simply titled, "Bitches". And who could forget the sheer brilliance of "Cocaine Junkie O.D.","I Love Me" or "Roll WitH You". |
