He was born in the desert hearted country where the old thieves were frying in the heat. He formed a band, at an awkward 16, with a snub-nosed boy called Nick, called The Birthday Party.
They took a plane to old London town, shocked them here, then to Berlin, shocked them there. The kids cried for the sound of his guitar and the sight of his mania. Nick cried that the sound they made no longer connected, and The Party was over. Nick became a Bad Seed, he became an Immortal Soul.
The cool kids liked him just fine. There was Lydia Lunch, the scary girl, and then there was Henry Rollins, the tough kid with the mouth and lanky Thurston More. There were others too.
In 2009 he felt sick with cancer in his liver, and by Christmas’ end, he was gone. They buried him back in the desert hearted country where the old thieves fried in the heat, and the cool kids cried.
Then they made a film.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment