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Dyce Kimura left Japan for America at the age of 19 with a telecaster on his back, a duffel bag full of clothes and the dream of becoming a professional musician. That dream came true only three years later: by then, he was an established pro, playing sessions, teaching and gigging seven nights a week. But besides his passion and diligence as a musician, it is also the incredible highs and lows that he has been through as a person—that give this singer, guitarist and songwriter one of the most honest, raw—and unique—musical voices on the scene today. Actually, there was never any doubt that Kimura would be anything but a musician. He was born in Chicago, and soon moved to California. But on a trip to visit relatives in Japan, he saw an old guitar in his grandparents’ house, and “I just knew right then I would be a guitarist.” He pestered his mom to buy him a guitar and get some lessons when he got back to the states—and from that point he never looked back.

Kimura’s family moved around a lot, eventually back to Japan, when he was twelve. His parents divorced, and his father, a big-time executive at a household-name company, wasn’t around much. In short, he grew up quick and experienced a lot: he went to private schools with kids whose parents were Japanese Mafiosi (a big contrast to Marine Corps military academy he had attended in the states) and was around the party scene quite a bit. However, he never lost his internal compass. When he discovered that his father was involved in some illegal activities of his own, he couldn’t get passed it. “I could have had it all if I would just keep my mouth shut,” Dyce recalls, “but I could not deny the truth and I chose the simple and poor life of a musician.” Disowned from his family, Kimura lived “piss poor” on the streets of Japan. But he still had the same wide-eyed excitement for music that he did as a 5-year old, practicing constantly. He always sought to challenge himself, studying with Ogisu Norihito, a nationally touring pro and producer, who took Kimura under his wing. Norihito taught him how much Hendrix had influenced rock and how to use vintage analog gear. And already by that age, Dyce knew what he liked, “I tried to listen to, and model myself after what I considered to be genuine talent—not something that comes and goes at the mercy of a trend, but real music that touches people and provokes emotion.” And by that time, he realized that America—home of the music he loved—was calling. In the US, Dyce did whatever he could to support himself, and drove a truck for a year. He passed through every state in North America in an 18-wheeler, with a $150 acoustic as his companion. “It was actually a great experience, I really got to see how people lived and had a chance to listen to all the local radio stations nationwide.” His faves were Atlanta and Dallas—and definitely some of that down-home, country vibe can come out in his playing. All that practice on the road paid off, and when he finally landed in Miami, he quickly established himself as a local pro. But the problem was, the cats he was playing with were over twice his age. They’d been partying all through the 70s and the 80s and weren’t about to stop. Kimura all-too-quickly learned what that was about, falling into drug and alcohol addiction, hanging out in flophouses and with shady characters. And although he isn’t sure exactly when it happened, at some point, he faced his demons, and made up his mind to get clean and sober—this time for good. A virtuoso musician, Kimura is comfortable switching genres, without giving up his own personality. That’s part of his dedication and training as a serious musician, but it’s also a tribute to his life experiences: “I have been rich and poor and everything in between. I’ve been really hip and also an outcast. I feel I have lived in every role life has to offer. I have experienced both a tremendous amount of fortune and misfortune.” And that range comes out in his music. Lyrically, Dyce digs deep to get brutally honest with himself—even if it means losing his “rock star” attitude and coming off with all the vulnerability of a human being. He’s man enough to wear his heart on his sleeve, as in “Best Friend”, when sings, “And I didn’t say all that I could have said; But I cried inside and I bit my tongue instead.” These days, Kimura is focusing on songwriting, recording sessions as a sideman and teaching. Always up for anything, he recently recorded several tracks for Cleva Records (Universal) artists Seein and Major Gauge—while holding down a steady Sunday gig at the 20,000-member strong Calvary Church. While he doesn’t have any regrets, he is far removed from his former life now and makes it a point to be a positive influence in the community, in AA and in church. With all that he has accomplished already—and a few lifetimes worth of living for inspiration—whatever he ends up doing next will be well worth the wait.