With a name that suggests little children being squished on the playground and tattoos that are sure to raise a few eyebrows, Dean Strickland and Rocket Ride of Victims of the Carousel make an impression that contradicts their appearance in Denton.

Rocket and I both know that his tattoo says "F#@* Texas," but his aw-shucks attitude when he explained it prevented him from even saying the word in front of me. "I was raised right," he said with a grin.

Dean deceives as well with his little boy smile and classical guitar skills. He looks vaguely like Scott Weiland of Stone Temple Pilots. An NT student from '97 to '00, Dean and I swapped stories of dorm life and the inspiration one feels in the artistic community here. He was equally as friendly and excited about the tour as Rocket was. In his music, he yells. And swears. Later, in his song "Suicide Note," he tells the audience: "I got expelled from the University of North Texas for writing this song."

But most admirable about these two is that their "World Wide Love Ride Tour," which began August 2004, has been built from the ground up and they have truly earned their growing fan base in Hollywood and beyond. Victims of the Carousel is nominated for "Best New Band" and "Best Band Name" in rockcitynews.com's awards held on Dec. 3, and Rocket feels that they're leading the polls.

They may be Hollywood outside since moving their group to California, but the boys are Texas at heart - Rocket wouldn't even smoke a cigarette in front of me because he saw the flicker of hesitation cross my face when I said I didn't mind.

The photographer was late, but the Victims didn't care because they were playing for an audience of nine (including me and two guys from the next band, not including "D.R." the club manager or the sound guy). Dean came back inside from the band's lone tour vehicle (a 4Runner) to hand me a copy of their cd, Naked Acoustic, and a handmade T-shirt. Dean explained that the tour is promotional, so the "jerseys and g-strings" and cds given out at the shows are all free. We wait around for the patio to heat up and then start the show.

Rocket and Dean don't play songs together. Each piece is constructed and performed individually. While one plays, the other turns around and stands quietly, displaying the Victims logo on the matching jackets they wear.

Dean sings about being on the run from the NT Campus Police, wondering how he will form a rock band from College of Music students knowing he's "the most hated singer-songwriter in Denton who's struggling to form a band." All the songs are simple, and the small audience amplified the feeling of spying on someone just messing around with his guitar alone. It's an escape from industry-perfected pizzazz, or emo boys with extended metaphors, mean girlfriends, and even more extended vocabularies. I felt like I was listening to the Ulysses of songwriting - stream of consciousness songs made of not verses, but sentences. It's not poetry, it's just life.

For the last song, Dean changed his voice from quiet and light to unbelievably loud and gritty. Screaming until his face turned red, the audience began to wonder if he would able to take anymore, or if they can. Suddenly he stopped and then Rocket turned around and the two obliterated their guitars, smashing them to pieces on the stage as wood splintered into the audience. They walked away. Everyone was a little confused at first, but clearly the show was over, no chance for an encore. A man in the back chuckled to himself, "That was the craziest stuff I ever saw."

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