When one thinks of Key West, Florida, one tends to think of tanned sandaled feet perched atop a deck railing, watching the sunset while seagulls drop dive bombs on your head and you not caring because that big old margarita you’ve been sipping on has put you in a whole other world. Welcome to the world of Pete and Wayne. 

Who are these worldly masters of rudity? 

Just another couple of drunk musicians who gather guitars in their arms and pretend they are Jimmy Buffett? 

Naw, not Pete and Wayne -- these boys are neither musicians or drunks. 
They blend a Key West sense of humor with their musical talents and create an uncanny ability to take even the most boring and yawning audience and turn them into a rowdy, drooling bunch of party freaks who gain a whole new outlook on life and living.

Pete and Wayne are a way of life.

How do I recollect that fateful meeting….the advent of the Pete and Wayne Show? If memory is accurate, which after years of substance abuse and various other mind numbing techniques, I'm probably not a good source, but here goes:

It was on bicycles back in December of 1996... At the time I was doing a show with a guy named Kevin MacNamara…a really goofy, funny, irishman from Boston. We were called “Two Guys Havin Fun”….Silly tourist rhetoric, combined with onstage antics, mostly cover song kinda duo…(long before there was a key West Irish Kevin, there were “Two Guys Havin Fun”. As a matter of fact, we got Irish Kevin his first ever gig in Key West…he just emulated what we did and became a Key West destination.)

So anyway, we were doing the “2 Guys" show, six nights a week at Sloppy Joe’s when my partner, Kevin called to say he had to leave town as his girlfriend’s boyfriend, was going to kill him, if he didn’t skedaddle. So he split, just like that….I had a show to do at 5 that evening and was dreading having to do it solo...

So on my bike ride the morning of Kevin's departure, I rode by the Bike shop on Truman Avenue and standing outside of the Bike Shop on Truman… was Wayne Hammond. Long scraggly hair down to his waist, a really cool bike under him, a leather Jacket (It was December), a gig bag on his shoulder and, most importantly a wave of recognition to me.

I had seen Wayne over the last few months playing Bass around town in the bars. First time at the Green Parrot when Mick Taylor of the Stones came to do a show! (Fuckin Mick Taylor, the only guy with enough balls to say" fuck this famous shit, I’m just wanna play real blues”, so he quit the Rolling Stones and went on tour)….Wayne was his Bass player! The fact that Wayne knew who I was that day, was surprising...

Wayne was a freak of nature on a Bass. Oh he was an amicable, friendly, funny, guy who I had chatted with at parties and such (hence his wave that fateful morning)….But with a Bass in those hands, he became this unleashed, fervent rally of notes….all spun on the fretboard of a fiery, red, Spector Bass….his playing was full of heart, passion, and he was playing shit no one had ever thought of or even tried before.

Anyway, that morning of the bike ride, as I rode by and saw his wave, I stopped and chatted….I never thought of myself in his league of musical prowess, but without hesitation I told him I needed a player for a regular gig at Sloppy’s that night…..He said “Sure” and the rest became Pete and Wayne.