Way late. Damn it.

This Week: Fear 1, Me 0
Current Score: Me 25, Fear 12

I spent a ton of time over the last week trying to figure out the answer to a question I have written on the whiteboard in my room: “What would make me happy?”

As some of you know, I do a bunch of different things, enjoy a bunch of different things, but I’m not much of a “finisher”, so to speak. Focus can be a real problem for me, as can getting the things I do from concept to execution, which sometimes feels like clerical work after the initial buzz of the idea itself wears off. I’ve been working on all of this as a long-term project for longer than I’ve been at this fear thing, and lately, it’s distilled itself into me trying to figure out what the next move I can make would be that would provide the most happiness possible and enable me to accomplish the most for the least amount of adversity, given the state of my life. I’ve been thinking about this a lot, really trying to nail some things down, and as a result, trying to answer the question “What would make me happy?” has begun to cause stress in my life. It’s a very First World kind of stress, not “I’m bleeding to death” or “I have no food, water or shelter”, and in a way, I’m blessed to be able to ask myself this question over and over and over again, but it’s also not the healthiest thing I could be doing for myself, mentally or emotionally. It’s fear-based on a lot of different fronts, and it got me, hence this week’s score.

I was at Brad Meltzer’s reading for his new, excellent book “Heroes For My Son” on Tuesday night, a little after what would normally be the cut-off time for this week’s musings, but an important piece of wisdom trickled down from there, tied to this line of thought. One of the heroes Brad names in his book is his late mom, Teri Meltzer, and the story he uses to illustrate her heroism speaks of a difficult time in his career when he was stressing out over a potentially major professional shift that, he felt, could’ve been “it” for him in the bad way. When he was talking to his mom about this, she simply said “I’d love you if you were a garbage man.” According to Brad, every time he sits down to write these days, he says “I’d love you if you were a garbage man” to himself before he starts.

There’s a powerful, two-way lesson in that sentence. Not only does it read like a guidebook on how to love the important people in our lives unconditionally, but it also serves as a reminder that, whether we always realize it or not, there most likely is or was someone, if not a lot of someones in our lives who would love us no matter what. I really am trying and do try to accomplish things every single day of my life, on some level, but in trying to conquer the world, finish an album, straighten out my life or even finish a sentence, it’s vitally important not just to me but to everyone that I don’t lose sight of the fact that, if I never accomplish a single thing in my life from this moment on, chances are, there were, are and will be people in my life who love me anyway, just because I’m me (thank you, if you’re one of those people), and the same most likely applies to all of you, even those of you in the audience who are truly awful like I am. (I keed, I keed.)

Staggering, isn’t it? This should be so obvious to all of us (especially those of us who have heard “Don’t Give Up” by Peter Gabriel and Kate Bush as often as I have), but the world, starting within ourselves, does its best to make us lose sight of it sometimes. So, I’d like to thank both Brad and Teri Meltzer for the wakeup call there, and from here on, I’m going to try not to let myself lose sight of it as often as I feel like I have. I think this could help me a little with that goddamned voice in my head that tells me I need to spend every waking moment of my life trying to conquer the world or finish a sentence.

Finally, in defense of garbage men and garbage women and garbage transgender folks everywhere, it should be noted that Type O Negative’s singer, Peter Steele, who sadly passed away recently (and I’m way overdue on mentioning it here), worked for the New York City Sanitation Department for a long time. Despite being a garbage man, being kinda goofy at times, kinda pervy at others and kind of a really big mess at others still, hell, maybe because of all these things, Pete always struck me as good people at the end of the day…one of us, sorta, who I and a bunch of others will miss dearly.

(Roger “Wildchild” McKenzie, press photo, photographer unknown. If you took the shot, let me know and I’ll credit you.)

Back in ’95, when I was working at a publicity office, I worked for a few months with a woman named Donna. Donna had a boyfriend named Roger, who was trying to get some demos of his heard under the name “Wildchild”, as I remember things. She played them around the office a few times, and a song called “Renegade Master” stuck in my head a bit, fun little hook to it. Roger would pick her up from work every so often, too, so I met him a few times. He was pretty quiet, but seemed nice enough. Never really had a conversation I can remember with him, but I think of him now and I think “friendly enough guy”.

Fast forward a few years, and I’m out at a club somewhere. Music playing, all of a sudden, I hear the hook from “Renegade Master”. No one I was with knew what the fuck I was talking about, but I was like “Holy shit! It’s Roger!”, and started dancing. Sometime after that, I got a copy of the record, and I still give it a listen here and there. It’s loud, dumb, fun music to bug out to.

For some reason, even after all these years, I’d never thought to look Roger up and say “Hey, cool that your record caught on, hope all is well” or even see how he was doing beyond the fact that his record did well until today. A friend of mine referenced “Renegade Master” on Facebook earlier, and I was like “w00, Roger!” which made me say “Fuck it, let me look him up.

I got to Wikipedia and found this:

“Roger McKenzie (1 January 1971 – 25 November 1995[1]) also known under his production aliases of Wildchild or DJ Wildchild, was an English musician and DJ. Born in Southampton, England, he released many singles on labels such as Hi Life Recordings, Ultra Records, and Polydor (UK). The tracks “Jump to My Beat”, “Renegade Master” and the subsequent “Renegade Master 98″ were his most successful. Fatboy Slim’s Old Skool Mix is perhaps the most famous version of “Renegade Master 98″. “Renegade Master” was his first in 1995, peaking at #11, but was surpassed by the success of Fatboy Slim’s remix “Renegade Master 98″, which peaked at #3 in 1998.

Just before his death from an undiagnosed heart condition, he formed his own record label, ‘Dark & Black’.”

Now, I’m not gonna act like I really *knew* the guy. He was to me, in all truth, a guy who picked my co-worker up from work and made a cool song. Still, what a fucking kick to the gut. As I said to another friend, “I haz a sad today, not a huge one, but still, it’s like “Whoa, he died and it took me this long to find out?”, on top of “Whoa, poor dude was only 24…”, on top of “Whoa, that was almost 14 years ago”, on top of “I wonder how he’d have felt back then if he knew that my friends from New Jersey would be talking about his song on the Internet 14 years after he died”. Damn Wikipedia. Made me go all quantum.” Just a lot of thought-provoking stuff in there. I almost died when I was 24, too, and at that point, I’d accomplished almost nothing. I’m 35 now, and just barely starting to scratch the surface of what successes Roger had before his passing. I bet he’d trade, and I know I wouldn’t, selfish as that may sound. Damn shame for anyone to go so young.

So yeah, today, I am pouring a 40 on the ground for Roger, who some of you may know as Wildchild. If Donna or any of his other loved ones read this, I’m very sorry for your loss, and hope you take joy in the memories you have of him, as well as the fact that years on, he’s still making people dance. For the rest of you, here’s a clip of Roger on Top Of The Pops. Enjoy.

…and as is often the case, life has happened since then. I think it’s time, though.

I’m sure I made it sound like I knew him, had a Cramps show story or ten to tell, or a lot of the usual stuff you hear out of me when I write these things, but the fact is, unfortunately, I don’t. Sometimes, I write things and it just sounds like I’m familiar. Usually, I am, but not in this case. The Cramps were an act that I almost saw play probably a dozen times, but never actually got to see. I never got to meet or know Lux, and I don’t know anyone else from the band. What I can tell you all, though, is that The Cramps were a terrific, greatly underappreciated band (even by me) who spawned a legion of imitators, and that Lux’s passing makes me deeply regret not spending more time with them, in person or otherwise.

After I heard of his passing, I got out all my Cramps records and put them on. I do this sometimes, but not all the time, when we lose an artist I liked. What struck me, and probably shouldn’t have, about what I heard is just how terrific of a band they really were. I mean, I always knew, I’d been hearing their stuff for over two decades, owned bunches of it, and almost saw them a ton of times, but what I really recommend that you do, if you can, is sit down one day and listen to a lot of Cramps records in a sitting. What you’ll find, as I did, is that they wrote and played really good songs, and performed the hell out of the ones that they borrowed from other artists. Maybe it’s not always easy to see underneath the camp and the kitsch that was one of their trademarks (and for a lot of people, one of their big selling points, but admittedly it was a distraction for me sometimes because of how much sp00ky I’ve had shoved down my throat in my life; overexposure has some very unfortunate side effects), but they really were one of the best rock n’ roll bands out there, and I feel poorer for not totally getting that before it was too late to see them. Thankfully, we do still have their records, which I’ll be spending a lot more time with, as should you all, and we do still have Ivy and their other surviving members, who I hope will keep making music, and who I offer my deepest condolences to once again.

Very sad news, and a very confusing couple of hours confirming it, due to the vagueness and irresponsibility of certain news outlets who shall remain nameless. Here is the official press release from Aleix Martinez at Girlie Action Media:

“For Immediate Release:
February 4, 2009

Lux Interior, lead singer of The Cramps, passed away this morning due to an existing heart condition at Glendale Memorial Hospital in Glendale, California at 4:30 AM PST today. Lux has been an inspiration and influence to millions of artists and fans around the world. He and wife Poison Ivy’s contributions with The Cramps have had an immeasurable impact on modern music.

The Cramps emerged from the original New York punk scene of CBGB and Max’s Kansas City, with a singular sound and iconography. Their distinct take on rockabilly and surf along with their midnight movie imagery reminded us all just how exciting, dangerous, vital and sexy rock and roll should be and has spawned entire subcultures. Lux was a fearless frontman who transformed every stage he stepped on into a place of passion, abandon, and true freedom. He is a rare icon who will be missed dearly.

The family requests that you respect their privacy during this difficult time.”

I’ll be posting more of my own thoughts on this very sad news in a little while, once the dust settles and some of us who’ve had such a hard time sorting out the facts have the official story. In the meantime, the short version is that I’m shocked and really, really bummed out. My condolences go out to Ivy, the band, and Lux’s family and friends.

(Ron Asheton at Glastonbury 2007, photographer unknown.)

“When I was a young guy coming up, going to the Grande Ballroom every weekend, I got to see my heroes play. Jeff Beck, the Who, everyone. I didn’t want to be a fanboy, but I’d stand there and wait — ‘I just want to say hi, this was great.’ I saw them walk by me with blank stares like they were zombies. I said to myself, you know, if I ever make it, I’ve got at least one minute for everybody who wants to say something. So I talk to people, and that’s what’s exciting now.”

Thanks for the minute and the music, man. Whether the world got it or not, you helped change everything.

For those who haven’t read the other obits today, Dock Ellis died of liver disease yesterday at the age of 63. Dock was a pitcher with the Pirates, Yankees, Athletics, Rangers and Mets over a 12 year big league career, but with Dock, while he had decent numbers, there was always way more to him than the numbers. He was at one point the most feared pitcher in the major leagues, an outspoken critic of whatever pissed him off at the time, and unfortunately, as great as his legend has become from throwing a no-hitter while on LSD (June 12th, 1970; one of the only cool “this date in history” things to happen on my birthday), he was a drug user, and his ballplaying career and in all likelihood, his life were cut short by the damage he did to himself with drug abuse. Dock recognized this, though, and he did his best to make peace with it and make amends in his later years, becoming a drug counselor who worked with everyone from his fellow ballplayers to prison inmates. He also had a cameo in the Michael Keaton epic Gung-Ho, and was also the co-author of Dock Ellis In The Country Of Baseball, a biography of Ellis co-written with future Poet Laureate Donald Hall. Dock lived a full, complex, interesting life that, as full as it was, was also entirely too short. Pretty much anyone who knew Dock describes him as the real deal, a larger-than-life, yet down to Earth figure who talked straight, admitted his failings, treated the people he met like neighbors and family, but never took shit from anyone. I really regret not getting a chance to meet the dude. He seems like someone whose company I would’ve enjoyed.

The best article I’ve read on Dock to date is here. I hope that you enjoy it as much as I have.

We’ll miss you, Snowman.

Fuck.

The guy was in the midst of a career renaissance that included his excellent album “Troubadour”, reviewed here recently (not to mention that Miley Cyrus just covered his “Girls Just Want To Have Fun”, which was set to net him a ton of cash if nothing else), and now this. He was supposed to play a show tonight at Bethlehem Musikfest that I wanted to go to (but couldn’t, for financial reasons), but unbeknownst to me, he’d cancelled about 2 weeks ago because of the health issues that took his life (apparently another one sadly lost to pancreatic cancer, if Wikipedia’s information is accurate.).

Story here, and you can also pay your respects over at Robert’s MySpace page.

I’d say more about Robert Hazard here, what was great about his music, and how terrific it was that he managed to have a second career over what turned out to be the last decade of his life, but I totally feel like I’ve had the wind knocked out of me right now, so instead, I’ll point you to the sites I’ve linked to above, and strongly recommend that you familiarize yourself with his work.

What a bummer, man.

Al had a hell of a run, though, and created something that, for better or worse, left an indelible mark on the human psyche.