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White Ford Bronco is a Washington, D.C.-based, all-1990s cover band. Here's their story: April 26, 1992 -- There were riots on the streets, but where were you? While you mull that over, we'll jump ahead to December 25 of that eventful year.... At the tender age of 8, little Matty received a drum set from Santa Claus (actually his parents, but don't tell him) and spent the next decade beating it like a mad man. And he learned to play those drums at some point, too, before retiring (from the drums) in 2002 and leaving his kit in his parents' lovely Connecticut basement. A few years later, he met Diego, who'd spent the 90s ripping up the guitar and belting out vox in a land best known for its tall cans of delicious iced tea and bargain-priced jeans -- Arizona. The two decided to jam, until Matt realized a drum set probably wouldn't go over so well in his college dormitory. A couple years later, the rock gods smiled upon Matt and placed him in a house with a basement large enough for a drum kit, and a guitar-playing roommate, known only as "McNasty." The Maryland transplant, McNasty, dusted off a bass guitar found in said basement, a phone call was made to Diego and, BAM!, the Bronco was alive and kickin'. Not that they really needed it or anything, but they did practice, like, once or twice before announcing to the world that WFB had arrived to deliver entertainment and salvation to all. But, of course, they got greedy and wanted some more people in the band. So.... WFB had been very impressed with one friend-of-the-band, Ken's, ability to consume mass quantities of whiskey, so they offered him a spot on the roster. As it turns out, this was a really good move, beacause he'd put Wayne Campbell to shame on the ol' 6 string sex machine. Excellent. And then, having had great success with the Marylanders (Ken also being one), WFB decided to turn its attention even further north to find a female vocalist. After searching high and low, they arrived in a small Canadian town called "Buffalo Newyork" and found a girl whose abilities made their jaws hit the floor. However, she was mute, and would be of no use as a singer. Regaining their focus, the boys heard a dulcet voice that also brought them great pleasure emmanating from a local barroom. Using their irresistible charm and old stand-by, shots of whiskey, the proprietor of said voice, Gretchen, was successfully recruited to join the joy ride that is White Ford Bronco. 
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