Artist description Jon Gwen is a hi-tech, solo artist. He plays MIDI bass pedals with his feet while he croons and solos on a hand-held, MIDI keyboard. Jon plays a mix of his own compositions. Starting each performance with soft, laid-back sounds, Jon works the room until he fires up the audience. His unique performance offers something for everyone, whether it is a recording session, relaxing lounge atmosphere or a full-blown concert. Jon has played up and down the Northeast coast in every type of venue from honky-tonks to the Kennedy Center. New York City has nurtured Jon for over 20 years. His most recent engagement lasted 20 years at the British Open Pub on 59th Street in Manhattan, and he has just finished a new album of original songs at the acclaimed Institute of Audio Research, where he has been a guest recording artist for the past six years. Jon has earned his living playing hotels, bars, weddings, bar mitzvahs, concerts, charity events, and just about any other gig you can think of. He has his own unmistakable style, and some people say that Jon Gwen is the most original musician in New York City. When you hear his voice, you sense that the singer behind the songs has actually lived them.

Music Style Blues-like Techno Jazz

Musical Influences Night of the Living Dead, Day of the Dead, Dawn of the Dead, Return of the Living Dead 1,2 & 3

Similar Artists NONE

Artist History Jon Gwen is a hi-tech, solo artist. He plays MIDI bass pedals with his feet while he croons and solos on a hand-held, MIDI keyboard. Jon plays a mix of his own compositions. Starting each performance with soft, laid-back sounds, Jon works the room until he fires up the audience. His unique performance offers something for everyone, whether it is a recording session, relaxing lounge atmosphere or a full-blown concert. Jon has played up and down the Northeast coast in every type of venue from honky-tonks to the Kennedy Center. New York City has nurtured Jon for over 20 years. His most recent engagement lasted 20 years at the British Open Pub on 59th Street in Manhattan, and he has just finished a new album of original songs at the acclaimed Institute of Audio Research, where he has been a guest recording artist for the past six years. Jon has earned his living playing hotels, bars, weddings, bar mitzvahs, concerts, charity events, and just about any other gig you can think of. He has his own unmistakable style, and some people say that Jon Gwen is the most original musician in New York City. When you hear his voice, you sense that the singer behind the songs has actually lived them.

Group Members Jon Gwen is a hi-tech, solo artist. He plays MIDI bass pedals with his feet while he croons and solos on a hand-held, MIDI keyboard. Jon plays a mix of his own compositions. Starting each performance with soft, laid-back sounds, Jon works the room until he fires up the audience. His unique performance offers something for everyone, whether it is a recording session, relaxing lounge atmosphere or a full-blown concert. Jon has played up and down the Northeast coast in every type of venue from honky-tonks to the Kennedy Center. New York City has nurtured Jon for over 20 years. His most recent engagement lasted 20 years at the British Open Pub on 59th Street in Manhattan, and he has just finished a new album of original songs at the acclaimed Institute of Audio Research, where he has been a guest recording artist for the past six years. Jon has earned his living playing hotels, bars, weddings, bar mitzvahs, concerts, charity events, and just about any other gig you can think of. He has his own unmistakable style, and some people say that Jon Gwen is the most original musician in New York City. When you hear his voice, you sense that the singer behind the songs has actually lived them.

Instruments Roland AX7 Hand Held Controlloer & PK5 MIDI Bass Pedals

Albums Confronting the Forces of Fear & Ignorance, Jon Gwen & the Sci-Fi Stars, The Day the World Caught Fire, Devil Music

Press Reviews Devil worship is alive and well as it seduces our children into Hell! A new Disciple of Satanism is in vogue. That Demon’s name is Cowboy Coe Anderson. He bedizens himself in a red satin, devil suit and tops it off with a white, ten-gallon cowboy hat. “Evils just a different way of spelling Elvis..” says Cowboy Coe Anderson. “..just move the ’L’ in the word ‘Evils’ to follow the ‘E’ and you got Elvis!” His new CD, entitled: DEVIL WORSHIP is part of a slick PR campaign to promote ’Black Magic’ products. The central theme of the CD is every person’s right to practice Demonism, Sorcery and Human Sacrifice. Mr. Anderson endorses the use of ’Black Magic’ products as a final solution to the Christian Problem. I first met Mr. Anderson in a public bathroom. He was kneeling before a urinal while muttering incantations and caressing an Elvis Presley photo. The mumbling, mumbo-gumbo fraud was none other than the infamous Cowboy Coe Anderson! Word had it that his band was playing at the Horse Balls Cafe that evening. My partner and I decided to attend. What we saw that night cured us forever of any desire to attend a Satan concert. We arrived to see teenagers dressed up as vampires and werewolves. These young people wore devil-suits and cavorted around shamelessly as they rocked slowly to the trance-like spell that Cowboy Coe Anderson’s music evokes. The height of the show occurred when Cowboy Coe Anderson was released from his straight-jacket and allowed to roam freely about the stage. A thug-like bouncer kept Cowboy Coe Anderson in line only with the help of a steel-tipped whip. In spite of all the bouncer’s efforts, Mr. Anderson succeeded in removing the bottom half of his Satan outfit. There on stage, he presented his backside to the astonished onlookers, a prideful expression on his face as if to say, ‘..look well, for you shall never see such buttocks as mine again!’ He repeated this performance again and again. His triumphant swaggering was short lived. A compulsion to answer the ‘call of nature’ overcame Cowboy Coe Anderson. There was quite a mess and even the teenagers wriggled their noses in disgust. It was with some difficulty that the strait-jacket was re-fitted. We left immediately. Next day, I awoke to hear a familiar strain of music coming from my teenage daughter’s computer. I thought I might be dreaming, but no! - it was the sound of the music that had haunted me the night before. It couldn’t be, but it was. Cowboy Coe Anderson’s music was on MP3.com and had ensnared my innocent and precious daughter. The first and only time I have hit my daughter was the day she started listening to Cowboy Coe Anderson music. My wife and I have already made appointments with our local pastor, child-psychologist and Exorcist. Our daughter has become a recluse, laughing hysterically behind her bedroom door...from which arises the sound of music sent up directly from Hell. We hope it is not too late.......... Music Review by: Jon Gwen My wife and I attended a concert at Greenwood Cemetery last night. We had received an E-mail informing us that Cowboy Coe Anderson and his band were going to play there at midnight. The night was pitch black when we arrived at the main entrance. There was a crowd of skin headed, neo nazis and other assorted geeks mulling around. We were surrounded by louts to all points of the compass and were ready to leave when one of the miscreants showed us a hole in the fence. No tickets were needed to see Cowboy Coe Anderson that night. We entered the restricted area with our hearts in our mouths, guided by the light of the stars and eerie moon. We crossed fields of gravestones and mausoleums. In the distance sounded a spooky music that seemed to call out to us from the depths of hell itself. There in the moldering mists was a gas generator and a ring of candles. Cowboy Coe Anderson and his band were performing songs from their new album entitled - Devil Worship. The Cowboy was dressed in a red, devil suit and wore a white Stetson hat. He sang in dull monotones and fingered himself inappropriately as he writhed in the golden light of the candle’s fire. Cowboy Coe Anderson sang of the delights he had experienced in the arms of succubus and demons. He trilled endlessly of the pleasures of drinking blood and sacrificing animals. The Cowboy Coe Anderson band played like enraged warlocks behind him and stared sightlessly out from zombie-like orbs. There was a definite hint of madness and hallucinogens emanating from the pianist - Art Peterson. Mr.Peterson drooled as his fingerings cascaded in an ecstasy of virtuosity down the ivory laden keys of the piano forte. It was as if the damned soul of Ludwig Von Beethoven had been resurrected from the dead and was playing a modern version of the classical repertoire. Art Peterson performed like a soul possessed and infused the carefully crafted songs with the insanity of genius unrecognized. Cowboy Coe Anderson sneered at Art Peterson. The sneer was appropriate. Listening to Cowboy Coe Anderson and Art Peterson was like comparing Charlie Parker to Kenny G. Art Peterson is a genius on the piano, but compared to Cowboy Coe Anderson - Art seemed to shrivel inside his own soul. It was then that Professor Holiber made his debut at the graveyard concert. Professor Holiber pulled lovingly at the bass and produced musical images of a witches brew bubbling with forbidden narcotic elixirs. He popped pill after white pill until his eyes seemed to be bulging from his head while blood colored sweat poured from his brow. The fingers on the bass disappeared in a flurry as this Prima Donna of the bass injected a stream of urgency into the sorcery of Cowboy Coe Anderson’s music. The crowd began to baa like sheep and couple on the ground. A madman pulled my wife away from me and tried to mount her on the dew-soaked grass. It was with great difficulty that I was able to pull the fiend off of her. This was the result of the Satanic music that Cowboy Coe Anderson was inflicting upon us. The wildness of the moment might have passed had not Chords Mcdonald then leaped upon a gravestone and began to pound his Farfisa organ with triads. The triads melded perfectly into the cacophony of the Cowboy Coe Anderson band and Chords McDonald began to literally howl at the windswept clouds bustling by overhead. Here was unfettered madness! When Curt Henry began to pound on the drums, the lulling crowd began to strip buck-ass naked and flail one another with flogs made from the stripped branches of nearby trees. Men and women yowled in ecstatic pain as the scourges flailed tender, bare flesh. Bottles of unholy spirits were produced and guzzled by pot-bellied denizens of the underworld. They belched and grew more intoxicated as Cowboy Coe Anderson hit upon his theme song - I Sold My Soul To The Devil. Young girls rushed the stage and began to lick Cowboy Coe Anderson’s black brogans. In complete hero-worship, these virginal young teenagers pledged their bodies and souls to the Cowboy. He again sneered and chose a young man to slate his lust upon, singing all the while. A terrible spanking incident now followed. All the while the music was building to a deafening crescendo when a hush fell over the crowd. Gastel Etzwane emerged from one of the newly dug graves brandishing a Silvertone guitar and making fornicating movements from his hips. Gastel Etzwane displayed a level of competence seldom witnessed in all of musical history. Again, complete hysteria swept the crowd. Cowboy Coe Anderson sneered again and Gastel backed down from the musical challenge that had been thrown at him. I looked around and my wife had disappeared. Where had she gone? There! On the roof of the mausoleum she rutted with seven gritty devils, each of whom had his way with her! Psychotic mass hysteria had reared it’s ugly head and infected one and all with a purely animal urge. Cowboy Coe Anderson stood on the stage and laughed at us all. He removed his trousers and shat upon the stage. An odoriferous abomination had been performed and the spell was broken! Stomachs began to empty their vileness on the wet grass at our feet. Cowboy Coe Anderson skulked off into the night. The crowd scattered with shrill yelping. My wife returned with a glassy eyed stare. We had risked all to hear this band that has been officially ex-communicated from the Catholic Church. We had been warned, but we paid no heed. We left without dignity. Our faith had been shattered, our love destroyed. Heed my warning friends: DO NOT LOOK UPON THE COWBOY COE ANDERSON BAND!!! It will spell the ruin of all you hold dear. Music Review by: Jon Gwen

Location New York, New York - USA

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