While San Francisco was filled with bands playing largely punk and post-punk, with some grunge offshoots, he wanted to create something to counter it. As cliques formed in the buzzing scene, Jenkins never felt like he truly fit in. We would save up enough for spaghetti and wine. The entire time, he lived with five people in an apartment above a bowling alley that had one bathroom.
He lived on very little then while jumping around to different bands and gigs, trying to find something that clicked. “It looked like Oz, just driving over the Bay Bridge,” he adds. For a twentysomething who grew up in the elite Stanford area, Jenkins described the city as his “Oz.” Much like in Manhattan during that era, creativity in San Francisco was born out of desperation. “We were really the last of the continuum,” he says, tracing his roots back to that city’s jazz scene in the early Fifties and to poets like Allen Ginsberg. Her hunger to break into writing mirrored his own hunger to make it as a musician in San Francisco, a city where in the Nineties, Jenkins says, the beatnik ethos was still very much alive. His girlfriend turned out to not actually be his girlfriend - an experience chronicled in “Motorcycle Drive By” - and has since become a high-powered magazine editor. “It also means that there’s cheap rent still, and it’s through that that people can actually establish things.” “I liked the edge on it, even though I know that the edge comes from want and disparity,” he expounds.
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Though crime was prevalent, it was a city full of creatives, with a “daisy-age hip-hop scene” that struck a chord with him. Years later, when he met his college-age girlfriend, who lived in a dorm on the edge of Washington Square Park, they would frequent places like King Tut’s Wah Wah Hut in Alphabet City and “dicey” Thompson Square Park.
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