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AUTUMN THOUGHTS  As
someone born (about) 5 years too late to actively participate, I locked
on the records, bands, lore and busted icons of the early SF punk scene
all the stronger when I was old enough to shave (my head). The Bobby
Death Band, the various incarnations and missteps of the Nuns, dense
newsprint rags like Damage or Search & Destroy and cultural
oddities like the Minimal Man LP or Crime's infamous gig at San Quentin
still spark in my mind. Though I'm not sure anyone still talks about
such things or thinks on certain people.In November 1992 (around the time of the Clinton/Bush election) I walked three blocks from my apartment to see the Toiling Midgets at Brave New World on Fulton at Masonic (fun place). They put out a couple okay-to-good LPs ten years earlier, which I admired to a point, and the band still exists in some fashion. My main draw was front individual Ricky Williams - the somnambulistic + charismatic lead of SF's Sleepers and ex-drummer of Crime (who had played on the "Hot Wire My Heart" single under the nom de guerre "Ricky Tractor"). He had been in and out of the band, and in and out of “doing music” at all. Drug problems were described. It’s not really any of my business.  I
took my traditional place near the stage as the band trundled through
a loose-limbed set that included more than a few instrumentals. I
realized that some of the instrumentals were supposed to have vocals
but Williams wasn’t capable of participating. The guy was far smaller
than I had imagined, slightly pear-shaped, his eyes hidden behind a
mop's worth of hair, and his double chin partially obscured by stubble.
I had the distinct impression that he was performing from the depths of
some psychic cave, staring up and out at a circle of waning daylight
far over his head. He had to catch his breath seated on a plastic milk
crate (more than once) as he shout sung-snarled. I clearly remember
walking home with one thought: he doesn’t look so good.Very, very recently I was looking up gigs I attended and trying to place them into a post-dated calendar of sorts. What happened when, where it happened, and who was the opening band. I found a mention of the Brave New World gig attached to an internet obituary for Williams, aligned the dates and times, and came to the conclusion that he died (of whatever cause), aged 36, a couple hours after I attended the show that I rolled out of bed and walked three blocks to see. Again, does anyone still talk about such things or think on certain people?  RAISED VOICES I heard loud talking and shouting in the din when Kid Congo & The Pink Monkey Birds were on stage (and rattling the rafters) at Bottom of the Hill, and decided / inferred it was probably the voices of the dead demanding attention. All our dead. THE PLACE In his 1958 short story “The Big Time,” Fritz Leiber described “The Place,” a combination shabby nightclub / way station that exists outside of time and caters to soldiers fighting in The Change War - an endless conflict between two shadowy, opposing forces constantly meddling in the universe’s timeline and rewriting history, time and time again, endlessly. Roman Centurions, rocket pilots and cavemen all rubbing shoulders with one another, sharing drinks and tales out of school. I need a place like The Place. It would, perhaps, resemble the Little Hill Lounge, and there would be a band.  |
