A beast lays dormant, slumbering in the sick hot summer of southern California. This beast is the wife beater felon James Brown, the demonic shaman Jim Morrison, and the spicy undertow of a red hot chili pepper. This beast is a communist.

From the barrio of corona a slap happy groove master was born, laying down roots for the beast tree that is The CommuniZt V. Dave "Boots" Pendleton grew up rocking when rock was out of vogue, burning the fire of pure AC/DC and Rush in his mind, and slapping bass like a bitch that won't bring you beer. In his shiny ghetto war wagon, a silver 80's Lincoln, he began careening through the side streets of Casa Blanca looking for a band, a chick, or an ounce of good cocaine. What he found was a psychedelic shaman, the quiet ticking of an organ explosive.

Chris Dixon grew up hiding in an antique store, coming out late at night only to play the manually squeezed rusty organs that he nursed back to life. From Bach to the Doors, the roaches and rats of south side corona would lay under the city smog and have this maestro rock their dusty cathedral. Blanketed in a cloud of THC, and nursing an eternal hang over, Chris ran into the freewheeling Dave in a drug deal gone bad. History was beginning.

The military cadence of Gideon's unearthly trumpet brought forth an angel, cast down out of no heaven, but the wrong side of Moreno Valley. The rattling of a war drum was the first toy of this unearthly funk fisted fury. Like an experiment from a mad scientist's test tube, Patrick Coggins came forth riding a horse that galloped in a broken back beat, and knew only the anger and evil of two wooden whips.

These dark and evil ogres then uncovered the ancient buried tomb of a truly carnivorous beast. From a time forgotten in the far north under the icy fern and pines of Alaska, came a savage creature, still thrashing live salmon clamped tightly in his horrific jaws. Groaning an eerie egalitarian diatribe and knocking the funk out of a red guitar, his mean blue gaze left a cold chill on the hearts of the band. This was the Christmas born Anti-Christ everyone was waiting for.

Cultivating Funk and Rock, like a giant field of red haired Indica, the band had come that America had been dreading.

The Communists had arrived.