rock is dead long live rock&roll

death doesn't do no holiday.  among the thousands upon thousands of dead in this fucking pandemic we lost a few good ones from other causes too.  florian schneider, founder of the great electronic band kraftwerk, dead at 73.  michael mcclure, one of the original beats & sf renaissance, dead at 87.  & today little richard, great rock&roller, died today also at the age of 87.

these men all lived full & long lives.  each one had some influence on my own development as a writer & human being.  but none more so than little richard.  i love rock&roll.  sue me.  i have many friends who adore other forms of music, such as german lieder, classical & jazz, who give me the side-eye when i declare my love for hardcore &/or yacht rock. 

i was pupped out of pop music.  it is part of my dna.  i grew up on punk rock which gave me a home & nourished my splintered working-class roots.  but before i discovered black flag, flipper, d.o.a, minor threat, social distortion, the dead kennedys et al. i really wanted to be a greaser.  yes, i was the kid in elementary school who used royal crown pomade for my dumb ass duck-trail hairdo.  i had a faux leather jacket that i stenciled THE LORDS on the back in homage to the fictive greaser gang from the film The Lords of Flatbush [1974] starring sylvester stallone & henry winkler.  & when i started writing, taken myself as a serious poet [in thought, word & deed] i had considered taking on the moniker 'little richard' in homage & deference to the man who sang lyrics as manifold, meaningless & ludic as the great dadaist poets. 

i adore early rock&roll.  little richard, who called himself the architect of rock&roll, has a secure place on my mt. olympus.  that voice, that way of hitting the keys on the piano, his massive sexual energy, chemistry & charisma.  he was the dude that could always get me to shake my toes. 

little richard's songs, at their best [rarely were they not at the first intensity], are timeless.  they sound of their era, yes, but even these songs that are close to 70s years old, are fresh & intense.  my god!  his voice.  how the hell did he not shred his vocal chords. 

there are better appreciations you can find for little richard, or florian schneider, or michael mcclure, than what i am saying here.  but i am not interested in writing an analyses of their art or a mini-bio of their lives.  rather, i am recording, especially for little richard, my profound respect & appreciation for their being alive & creating in my own lifetime.  no one is getting younger.  we start our journey toward death the moment we are born.  death in your 70s - 80s is a pretty damn good run. 

death fucking sucks.  it continues working even as we are made dizzy from these extraordinary times.  & yet, as the poet said, death is the mother of beauty.  i am grateful to be a witness to such beauty.  as i said above some may not think of rock&roll as high art.  but what the hell does high art even mean?  what is low art?  art is where you find it, & that is often in the heart, the sex, & the mind.  little richard hit it out of the park.

little richard is dead.  long live little richard.