Like Pete Townsend strumming an open G chord, Brett Meisner arrived on earth in the Fall of 1965 with a thunderous roar. The only son of two school teachers, Brett was raised with a strict education of reading, writing and rock and roll. Well, his parents weren't so keen about the last part, but they couldn't stop the inevitable. After seeing "KISS Meets the Phantom of the Park" in 1978, the future of Brett Meisner was carved in stone like so many etchings. His parents reluctantly bought him a Sears six-string electric guitar for his 13th birthday - thus beginning the career of one of greatest pursuits of pure rock and roll personified. An accomplished guitarist by age 16, Brett and his band "Spartacus" were soon playing high school dances and beer bashes in and around the Pouhgkipsee area of upstate New York. In the spring of 1982, as the band's future looked to be gleaming on the horizon like so many suns, tragedy struck when Brett was hit while by a Roto-Rooter service truck while collecting on his paper route. Brett was rushed by helicopter to the local Hospital. While riding in the helicopter, a badly injured Brett had an epiphany - he would be the voice of rock and roll. Not a great singer, mind you, but he still had his mind. A mind that ate, slept and consumed all things rock and roll. After spending three months in the hospital, Brett emerged, partially paralyzed in his right arm and with a complete loss of hearing in his left ear. Brett's spirits were down but they weren't out. He pushed his gift of writing to a new level. If he couldn't play it he would say it.

Brett wasn't about to let his accident slow him down. He was determined to be a self made man. After receiving a six-figure settlement from his accident, Brett moved from his parent's home and began his career with a vengeance. Landing a column in the local paper, Brett made his mark with incendiary reviews of the local rock scene. Having been a successful musician, Brett was able to understand the art from a different point of view than most rock critics. Lester Bangs, Cameron Crowe and Lisa Robinson were Brett's targets. They had made a mark, but he would leave his. A local college soon recruited Brett as an afternoon Deejay. The radio show 'Brett's Tasty Biscuits" would be heard by a legion of loyal fans daily, and set a unique format for 80's rock radio - are you listening Howard Stern? Copied by many, the popular show was canceled six months later as Brett and a short-sighted program director had an ugly argument about the meaning of "true ratings." Out of a job and out on the streets, Brett kept his dream alive.

It wasn't long before the sharks were circling! Schenectady, New York wasn't New York City or Los Angeles, but it was a powerful market. Often refereed to as the 'Seattle of the early 1980s," Schenectady was the new hot spot for talent. After receiving an offer from the Schenectady Gazette, Brett packed his car and never looked back. Looking back now, it was phase one of a ten point plan. Brett took to the assignment with all that he had learned. He wrote in depth and insightful reviews of the bands that passed through his town. Everyone from Eddie Money to Super Tramp were dissected, resurrected and personified in his reviews. Brett's secret weapon was his honesty. He never held back if he thought an artist was short-changing the audience. His reviews often put him in danger. One episode: After calling Molly Hatchet a Lynyrd Skynyrd wannabe in his review, Brett's apartment complex was covered in toilet paper on Halloween. "It was all trees and toilet paper as far as the eyes could see," Brett told locals. In retaliation Brett published a controversial column announcing that the southern rock movement was dead. "The Allman Brothers went Hollywood the day Gregg Allman said 'I do' to Cher," Brett wrote. Days later the once popular southern rock movement was dead. Coincidence? You Decide! But Brett understood Gregg Allman's logic. Hollywood was where it happened. A town full of friendly faces and endless possibilities, Hollywood would be Brett's very next target.

Sixteen years and three months later Brett would board a plane for Los Angeles. The flight was long, the food was lousy and the in flight movie "Sweet November" played on as Brett surveyed the faces of his fellow passengers. So many faces, so many places he thought, yet the "Dream Was Alive!" Landing at LAX airport like so many of his heroes, Brett looked on his future with the intensity of a falcon. "My voice will be heard," he said as he grabbed his bags from the luggage carousel. The dream is alive indeed, but another voice told Brett the bitter truth. "This is no longer your father's dance, my boy!" On May, 10th, 2002, Brett Meisner had arrived in Hollywood, California. CUT TO: "Taxi!"