Jared spent the final months of the Carter, all of the Reagan, all of Bush 41, and nearly all of the Clinton administrations as a rock-n-roll singer, guitarist, and songwriter. The bands that he would play in would come and go as the club dates blurred together in a series of stale beer, vomit, and cigarette smoke odored vignettes -- replete with audiences raising Molson bottles on high to exacerbate the sloppiness of the slurred requests for "Free Bird." Not a single one of Jared's bands ever performed Free Bird, as they were Cheap Trick influenced power-pop groups that featured his original songs.

The fact that his bands didn't play Classic Rock cover tunes would occasionally place the safety of Jared and his band mates into jeopardy in certain roadhouse dives they would get booked to play. In November of 1993, a watering hole named Jimmy Joe's was the preferred hangout of a 6'4" tall, 270 lb. biker called "Crankshaft Eddie" by his close associates. When Jared's band The Groove Clowns wouldn't play the Rolling Stones classic Jumpin' Jack Flash - Eddie smashed his cue stick on the bistro's billiards table and ran at the stage with the jagged end of the broken handle of the stick; with the intent of maiming or killing the first musician that he could connect with.

Unfortunately for Crankshaft Eddie, his alcohol-fueled rage did not allow for light stepping, causing him to trip on the way toward the stage, falling short of his goal and onto the sharp end of the broken cue stick, forcing it through his Harley Davidson t-shirt and into his belly at a point between his breastbone and navel. Eddie then pushed himself up onto his knees -- the cue stick being firmly embedded into his core.

Crankshaft Eddie's eyes registered confusion as the Clowns played Jared's song "It's Alright." A well-meaning friend of the big man ran to his aid and began pulling on the cue stick, as the other 15 or so Jimmy Joe's patrons looked on in horror. The friend succeeded in pulling the cue stick free, and with it a few feet of small intestine that was stuck to the wooden billiard tool, looking not unlike spaghetti and marinara. The friend, known only as Tino, began to panic and attempted to pull the cue stick free of the entrails, which only resulted in two more feet of the organ being unceremoniously yanked from the wound in Crankshaft Eddie's midsection. Tino's brown eyes were wide with fright as he dropped the stick and guts and repeatedly yelled "Holy @#%#" as he ran for the drinking establishment's front door, leaving his injured friend behind. Crankshaft Eddie himself began staggering toward the front door, appearing almost comical with his 5 and a half feet of stinking innards attached to two feet of broken cue stick dragging behind him.

The pain of the abdominal trauma was barely penetrating Crankshaft Eddie's drugged and pickled brain through the shock, and yet he was cognizant enough to know that he might need medical attention. The band played on while a tall, muscular fellow with a shaved head and Fu Manchu mustache sat at the bar and remarked, "dude, that took guts" as the shocked, injured man staggered by toward the door. "Ooooh, gross" was all his skinny blonde 17 year old girlfriend who sat to his left could offer. The bartender, who resembled Santa Clause sans red suit, interjected "maybe I oughta call 911, huh? I think that dude might be seriously messed up. But man, I can't keep the cops comin' here. I think I got some underagers drinkin' in here, and I'll get shut down." When EMS did finally arrive, they found big, mean Crankshaft Eddie dead in the doorway, having died of cardiac arrest brought on by the shock of his injury and blood loss -- his already compromised and over-taxed heart merely surrendering without much of a fight.

The day jobs (as well as a couple of Graveyard Shift stints) came and went as Jared pursued the fame and fortune of the Rock-N-Roll Dream. The lousy gigs in dumps like Jimmy Joe's didn't offer much money either, but the Groove Clowns were able to self-release a CD in May of 1994, after many rejections and less than good faith overtures from record labels. The studio time used to record the Groove Clowns album was the grand prize awarded to the group for winning the January '94 Battle of the Bands held at the Gold Mug, a popular nightspot located Seneca Knolls, a northern suburb of Syracuse New York, the city from which the Clowns hailed.

The Groove Clowns lone CD project was received positively by the regional music press, but the good reviews did not boost sales. Acrimony and apathy had begun to seep in around the edges of the band. Additionally, Jared was gaining an increasing distaste for the club scene. He had recently given up imbibing in alcohol and did not smoke and couldn't stand inhaling it second-hand. Being in that element of vices was wearing hard on Jared. The lack of good bookings became discouraging and the artistic differences within the band were now rearing their ugly heads. By October of 1994, the Groove Clowns were no more, defunct a mere nine months after the winning the Battle of the Bands that made their CD release a reality.

The coffee house scene would be a better fit for Jared Yates, who was performing as an acoustic soloist by the autumn of 1995, having gotten married earlier that year. A steady gig came out of his change in musical direction, that being an 18 month long stint of Tuesday nights at Grinder's Corner Café in Fayetteville, New York. Other coffee houses in upstate New York became venues for Jared, as did area bookstores.

Jared's songwriting began to take on political overtones; right-leaning and not the left-wing material that one would expect from a member of the music industry. Jared now promoted himself as the "Psychedelic Conservative." The music itself still evidenced the Beatle-like chord changes and melodies, but lyrically he was espousing themes of family, personal responsibility, free enterprise, gun rights, and limited government. During this time of musical metamorphosis, something began to tug at Jared's spirit, something profound that he couldn't put a finger on...

In the spring of 1996, Jared released a cassette-only album titled "Position." This was a stripped-down project, featuring only Jared's voice and guitars -- just as he would be performing live. The album was roundly trashed in the media, partly because its production was bare-bones and mainly because of the conservative political messages that permeated most of the songs. Despite its rejection by the very same media that applauded the Groove Clowns, the "Position" cassette garnered better sales numbers than the release by Jared's erstwhile band.

That same weariness following the release of the Groove Clowns CD -- that same heavy feeling of burnout -- was again overtaking Jared in 1998. At the same time that he was embarking upon his solo career, his love of sports was leading him into the collecting and selling of rare sports memorabilia. By 1998, this love for collectibles associated with professional and collegiate sports was becoming a passion that was exceeding Jared's desire to make music. In March of that year, after playing a lunchtime gig at a gift shop on the Syracuse University campus, Jared told his wife Jocelyn that he was done making music on a serious level. "I'm really sick of it" he told her. "I'm sick of the scene, I'm sick of the apathetic audiences, and I'm sick of chasing the dream. It's been way too many years. I'm trying to turn my sports collectibles hobby into a business and I'm on fire to do that. The collectibles are for more enjoyable than playing music now." Jocelyn's reply was "I'm sick of seeing you tormented over this musical pursuit. I think getting out of it is a good idea."