Born in a small town famous only for its annual Super Bowl losses and questionable municipal water, Chris SHOULD have cemented his family's legacy of esteemed concert pianists, according to his fictitious biography. Instead, Chris, a true rebel, gravitated towards the rhythmic throb of the bass guitar, much to his family's horror.

His parents tried everything to dissuade him - from hiding his bass strings in the oven to replacing his amplifier with a noisy set of bagpipes - but Chris' dedication was unwavering. He practiced relentlessly, often in the dead of night, to the growing consternation of his 96 year-old landlord on the other side of the duplex. 

His early career featured bands with names like 'The Damp Socks', ‘We Need a Bass Player', and the prog-funk-polka outfit, ‘Emerson, Lederhosen & Palmer'  - each one a glorious trainwreck. Despite the names, Chris refined his skills, mastering the art of finding the exact note no one else is playing and committing to it with unwavering conviction, regardless of what the rest of the band is doing. 

“It's JAZZ!", says the one-man punchline. 

Once, during a particularly energetic show, the stage collapsed around him. Chris, ever the professional, continued playing his bass line, providing a rhythmic foundation for the bewildered crowd who, according to one reviewer, "found themselves swaying rhythmically to the rhythm of impending doom".

When he isn't writing future hit singles for DoDriver, Chris can be found in his garage, attempting to teach his Rickenbacker to play Yes' "Roundabout" all by itself. He maintains that it's just a “matter of proper motivation and a really good set of bass strings” - fresh from the oven.