Henry Rollins: A Death in the Family

By Henry Rollins Thu., Dec. 6 2012 at 3:45 AM

[Look for your weekly fix from the one and only Henry Rollins right here on West Coast Sound every Thursday, and come back tomorrow for the awesomely annotated playlist for his Saturday KCRW broadcast.]

I am in San Francisco. It is a Saturday night and I should have been in Los Angeles watching The Stooges at Staples Center. I would have had a great show to write about, but Morrissey, who was closing the show for The Stooges, canceled and the entire gig was called off! My original plan was to fly to Los Angeles, see The Stooges and then fly back up here for my last San Francisco show. As it is now, it's a Saturday night off in a major city. That's all kinds of wrong.

Earlier today, I was told that an old pal of mine from the Washington, D.C., music scene had just died. He was only in his mid-50s. I have spent the rest of the day and now into the night thinking about him. Those who knew, who know and who were there, have been checking in via email.

He could be a bit much, but in those days, we all could. Partially deaf and sometimes a bit drunk, he would lean in and talk loud, his cigarette sometimes coming close to your face. He meant no harm; in fact, he was a really good guy. He was at all the shows, you could count on it. He was one of the people who made me check myself to see how much I was into it because he was always into it.

People fall out of your life all the time, in all kinds of ways. Death is a big deal, yet so obviously part of the package. Someone goes and with their passing, a door is opened and one can be swept up in a flood of memories. You are reminded of where you come from, what that means and where you are right now. Death is huge and, at the same time, mundane in its certainty. Trying to hold both ideas in your head at once can be hard.

I don't mind hanging around in the past as long as I am on the way to the next thing. I'm sitting across the street from the venue where tomorrow I will be performing for the third time in four nights. Knowing I'll be on that stage after this night off is behind me, I can afford to float for a little while. At this moment, I am only several feet away from the legendary Fillmore at 1805 Geary Blvd. The first time I played in there was 10/31/81, after concert promoter/force of nature Bill Graham had left the venue and the place was called the Elite Club. I didn't really understand the relevance of where I was, but soon after I got it.

I have been back on that stage several times since then and it's always a big damn deal to me. When you see the list of the bands and artists who have been in that building, you can't believe that you are also part of that historical line. No venue moves me like the Fillmore. Before soundcheck, I will stand on different parts of the dance floor, look at the stage and try to imagine what it was like to see Jimi Hendrix or Janis Joplin there. The building was around long before Bill Graham ever started putting on shows in it, but as far as I am concerned, when you're in the Fillmore, you're in Bill's house.

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JennieVasquez topcommenter

@godoggo Thanks. I checked it out and liked it. I first learned about her here in a column here. As a first generation Mexican-American I greatly admire that she became a bilingual educator to help children learn and succeed in this country.

JennieVasquez topcommenter

This is a lovely tribute to a friend. The title says it all. To consider a friend a death in the family is very telling and I have always been one to think that you don't have to be related by blood to consider someone a part of your family. The loss of someone you care about regardless on how often you see them or how long it's been since you last did is always difficult. Two years ago a vaguely knew who Henry was, had never heard his music, read any of his stuff, seen him in any movies, and never heard his spoken word. By chance I read something he wrote mentioning Sam Cooke and from there I read some more and listened to some spoken word and discovered something I liked that had been sorely missing for me. For many years beginning with the loss of my college professor and mentor and someone who was like family, I had been dealing with many emotions caused by a significant number of family and friends. I was raised in a family that you spoke and told stories of the dead, remembered birthdays and dates of death in order to reflect and remember those you loved. Unfortunately, many of the people I associated with were uncomfortable with my being reserved after a loss, didn't like me talking about someone who had passed it would make them uncomfortable for some reason, still does, and found it weird that I frequently visit cemeteries where my parents and other loved ones are located. I reached a point where I would keep my thoughts to myself and everything was sunshine and roses because death was a taboo subject. As I became more familiar with Henry's work, I found that many of the emotions he spoke of after the loss of his friend Joe Cole and others he has lost along the way were similar to how I felt and I began to realize that it's okay to to feel how you feel and that the key is learning to cope rather than to forget the loss of someone. Since then I feel like I have come out of a thick fog in which I was denying how I felt. I also learned that even if it is weird perhaps that I like to remember important dates including the days I lost someone and take time out to remember and appreciate my loved ones that it's okay because there are others that do the same. I only wish more people were comfortable realizing that honoring our loved ones that are gone by remembering them or doing something positive in their honor is not a bad thing if anything it lifts your spirits to remember you were fortunate enough to know wonderful people while they were here on earth.