CHRIS LEGG MEMORIAL:
Dysfunctional
What was that strange time, a cycle of hope and despair, looking outward, then in, and recording the observations? From most angles, I saw dysfunction, so the term stuck, but like the term, the attention was momentary, though not the essence.
Storytellers & Artists: D.Lasala, Mike Lasala, D.Middleton
Year: (c) 1994
Notes on Dysfunctional from Matt Moore
‘Nother saying good-bye to a t-shirt post.
This one hurts. In the summer of 1993, I somehow wound up the roadie for a small band in southern Connecticut. This t-shirt was part of their merch. This one is a long story. The band Dysfunctional was a power trio made up of brothers Mike Lasala and Dave Lasala, who I knew through my older brother Dan, plus a drummer. I was driving a pick-up truck that summer and can’t honestly recall how I ended up as their road crew. But, there were plenty of nights I’d roll to their apartment in a rough part of New Haven, CT, load up, drive out to some bar or another in Connecticut, load in, help with sound check, get something to eat, enjoy the show, and then load out. I wasn’t 21 yet, but no one carded someone lugging a bass amp in the backdoor a 6 o’clock, so I got to hang out in bars underage. It was a 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 summer. I got to see songs get introduced, grow and evolve. Riffs would move from one song to another. Tempos would change. A bridge would appear where it hadn’t been before. An outro would be cut for an abrupt stop. I got to know the gang that hung around the band—fans, fellow musicians, groupies.
As someone who always felt like an outsider, I was accepted into this small little cadre. I heard some of the most amazing music I’d ever heard, both from Dysfunctional and other bands. I had a conversation about mindfulness (though I didn’t know that’s what it was called at the time) at 3:30 AM in the Branford Diner that, to this day, I still think about. I have never been a stay-out-late-and-party person except that summer. The most bizarre part is I had expected my overprotective parents, who begrudgingly had extended my curfew from 10 PM to midnight when I started college, to give me hell for getting home at 1 or 2 in the morning, but it never came. One time, it was sunrise when I finally arrived home, and no questions were asked. I’m not complaining, but I am still perplexed since, at 22 and out of college, they would give me shit.
In the fall of '93, I went back to UConn with a tape of songs I played constantly, this t-shirt, and a version in white (that didn’t make it out of the '90s). I had hoped to make it to one of their shows, but I didn’t have a car on campus. But I got excited whenever I saw an article about them in the local arts scene paper. I think the last time I saw them play was in the summer of ’94. I was working at a summer camp but had a car on-site, so I had made it down to New Haven for an acoustic set they’d play (Outside an ice cream shop if I recall correctly). The highlight came when they played Toad's Place, which is an iconic venue in New Haven, CT, in November 1994. Busy at college, I couldn’t make it, but I was proud to see they’d made it to one of the “big”s.
I can’t recall when my brother Dan told me they’d split it up. I was near the end of college. My musical tastes had expanded and evolved so much. Dysfunctional—with its mix of prog rock, grunge, metal, British Invasion, and too many other influences I’m not qualified to name—had been up there with Tool and Nine Inch Nails as my favorite bands. I was devastated. That was 30 years ago. Time and the internet have let me digitally track down and retain some of the songs and performances. Mike is active online, trying out new covers. Dave and I reconnected over our shared love of fiction writing. I'll post links in the comments and invite them to share what they're doing. And I have the memories of those nights at random bars. There was a poorly attended Zima night where I went home with so much merch—key chains and t-shirts and pool floaty. A glam rock band where the bassist bragged his favorite drink was “breast milk right from the tit.” A battle of the bands where the MC kept calling the band “The Dysfunctionals.” Going to see an acoustic show on a date and realizing the girl—who leaned back into my chest, rock in time with the music, and pulled my arms around her—really liked me. I’ve treasured this shirt and worn it sparingly, but twisting the wrong way the other day opened a huge gap in the back. It’s time to say goodbye. It’s just a shirt. But the memories will last as long as I do. Thanks for that summer, Mike and Dave.
He approached me
Speakin' 'bout pain
But all I could hear
Was the gentle refrain
Of the sea
Inconsistent
Beautiful Day
