1991 was a strange time. We were at the tail end of the first Bush presidency, the economy was in a deep funk, and the mullet haircut was still going strong. Guns N’ Roses and Vanilla Ice owned the corporate airwaves, but in the underground scene, a sea change was underway. In my home on the North Texas prairie, an obscure radio station called the Edge was broadcasting groundbreaking music by bands like the Smiths, the Happy Mondays, the Stone Roses, and New Order. The Edge was preset #1 on the big mechanical radio buttons in my ‘79 Buick LeSabre Palm Beach, and it kept me good company on my commute to the defense plant where I held my first professional job. The seeds of x-eleven were sown in the fall of that year, when my roommate Eric was finishing up his bachelor’s degree and preparing to move out of our apartment on Green Oaks Boulevard in Arlington. Since graduating college three months earlier, I had rapidly gotten bored with the 9-to-5 grind and was looking for something -- anything to spice up my life. Drinking and clubbing kept me busy for a few months, but it also became boring. I entered graduate school at UT Arlington but realized shortly afterwards that more computer science classes weren’t the ticket and dropped out. My music career had been on hold for a while; the Space Pig gigs had finally come to an end on Halloween 1991, with a typically chaotic Pig performance at that bastion of Arlington nightlife, Skippy’s Mistake. The Pig gigs had never been especially fulfilling, since we piggies were little more than session musicians brought in to realize the head pig’s artistic vision -- I was ready for a project of my own.