Thoughts on Leon Redbone on the day of his passing, May 30, 2019

Text by Brian Dickson, 2019 / FFanzeen

Images selected by Brian Dickson from the Internet

The Internet is loaded with trap doors. Today I reached the end of one random online article or another, and there at the bottom of the page was a selection of others. And, jarringly, one of them was titled, “Leon Redbone dead at 69.” A nice feeling when that happens, isn’t it? Jump over to Google, type in the name to verify, and there you have it. That old familiar jolt when someone you really dig is gone – forever.

I discovered Leon Redbone…when? You know, I can’t even remember. Let’s see. I’ve never seen him perform live, and I greatly regret not buying a ticket to see him at Hugh’s Room in Toronto in December of 2013. He played two shows on a weekend, intimate acoustic sets that would ultimately be among his last live performances. I never caught any of his guest spots on “Saturday Night Live” in the 1970s, nor did I see him on the “The Tonight Show” in the ‘80s and ‘90s. And I only recently learned of his stint at the Mariposa Folk Festival in 1972, and how he became exposed to a wider audience with an assist from Bob Dylan. This would lead to his signing with Warner Bros. and the release of his debut album, On the Track, in 1975.

I do have five of his albums on compact disc, though: On the Track, Champagne Charlie (1978), Red to Blue (1985), Christmas Island (1987) and Whistling in the Wind (1994). Island was sought out solely for Leon’s duet with Dr. John on “Frosty the Snowman,” but that album has been a Christmastime favorite at our house ever since. [Author’s note: Their rendition of “Frosty” takes on entirely new meaning this Christmas, as Dr. John has, in somewhat perplexing fashion, passed away only a week after Leon, on June 6, 2019.] But, for the life of me, I can’t remember when I became tuned in to Leon’s music and his rag-timey charm. And that seems just about right: mission accomplished on Redbone’s part. He once said, however, “I don’t do anything mysterious on purpose. I’m less than forthcoming, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I’m mysterious. It just means I’m not inclined to go there.”

The statement issued by his family today echoes the humor and eccentricity of his craft, and of the man’s enigmatic persona throughout his life in music:

“It is with heavy hearts we announce that early this morning, May 30th, 2019, Leon Redbone crossed the delta for that beautiful shore at the age of 127. He departed our world with his guitar, his trusty companion Rover, and a simple tip of his hat. He’s interested to see what Blind Blake, Emmett, and Jelly Roll have been up to in his absence, and has plans for a rousing sing-along number with Sári Barabás. An eternity of pouring through texts in the Library of Ashurbanipal will be a welcome repose, perhaps followed by a shot or two of whiskey with Lee Morse, and some long overdue discussions with his favorite Uncle, Suppiluliuma I of the Hittites. To his fans, friends, and loving family who have already been missing him so in this realm he says, ‘Oh behave yourselves. Thank you…and good evening everybody.”

Not long ago my wife and I had a nice little gas fireplace installed in a back room of our house, the one that leads out to the deck and then to the back yard. During cold winter months here in Ontario Canada, on nights when the wind and snow are howling outside and I am warm by the fire with my bulldog on the rug by my feet, I like to sip on an aged rye whiskey over ice while the firelight ripples across the ceiling. For a scene such as this Leon’s music is custom-made, and I felt a playlist of favorites would be just the ticket. And after a night or two of ‘settin’ by the fire,’ I was good with the arrangement of tunes on my list, and I made a copy on CD for my older brother. He spends a lot of time in his workshop; he occasionally enjoys a whiskey on the rocks, and the shop’s got stereo speakers and a big ol’ wood stove.

Here is the track list for that mixed disc. Another reason for my renewed interest in Redbone at the time was that I’d just discovered he’d released what would be his last album of new recordings, 2014’s Flying By.

Note: An excellent documentary short film called “Please Don’t Talk About Me When I’m Gone” was uploaded to YouTube today. Have a look, it’s good. 

A Memorial: Writer Wes Funk, Feb 2, 1969-Oct 10, 2015

Text and images © Robert Barry Francos, 2015

When I heard about Saskatoon writer Wes Funk passing suddenly in his sleep at the age of 46, it came as a deep shock to me, the local writing community, and to his many fans around the world.

I first became aware of Wes when my partner bought me his first novel, Dead Rock Stars, when I first moved to Saskatoon from Brooklyn in 2009. It was an interesting story about a gay man who lives in this city, goes home to rural Saskatchewan to visit his religious family, and yet still manages to possibly find some happiness along the way. Like his character, Wes was a fan of classic rock, hence the title, and even had a tattoo of the Nirvana logo on one arm, and the Carpenters’ logo on the other.

When I saw that Wes was having a book signing at the local McNally-Robinson bookstore in 2010, I brought my copy and had him sign it. As fates would have it, he was alone at the table which gave us time for a very nice chat about music and life. We talked about getting together again for coffee at some point.




LIT Happens: Wes interviews Anthony Bidulka

After a few more conversations, Wes invited me to come on down to his Shaw Cable television show that focused on writers, called LIT Happens; some of them can be found online. Shaw played the episodes between films. I took my camera along, and was also interviewed for the show. It gave me the chance to give him a copy of a coffee table book about AC/DC which featured photos by me. As far as I know, I am still the only blogger he ever queried on the show. Afterwards, he drove us from the studio in the North End to the then-new downtown Tim Hortons, where we continued our talk.

His next book was Baggage, the story of, yes, a gay man looking for love in Saskatoon, who opens a shop in the area across the street from where Wes actually lived at the time, at the top of the Broadway Bridge. While Dead Rock Stars was a good book, I found this one an even better read. His writing was improving substantially, and he was no slouch to start. His third book was Cherry Blossoms, which was told from a woman’s perspective. It was a critical success, and for an independent release, sold quite well.

Hafford Summer Sizzle: Wes and his parents

Over the years, I would see Wes frequently at events, such as Word on the Street, PRIDE, and even the 2012 Hafford Summer Sizzle (close to where Wes grew up), where I would take his picture. He was quite proficient at promoting himself and his work, and always had a smile for anyone who would approach him. When he made the cover of the first issue of Bridges, a weekly magazine produced by the Saskatoon StarPhoenix daily newspaper, it was a nice nod.

After getting quite a few shots of him, I gathered a bunch of my photos together onto a disk, and gave it to him, which he thanked me by mentioning me into the acknowledgements of his next book, a memoir wittily titled A Wes Side Story. I told him I was going to buy a copy, but he insisted he wanted to give it to me, instead. But he never had the chance.

Likewise I had some rock music-focused books I wanted to give him, but a bad back and health issues always managed to come in the way. Still, we talked via IM on Facebook from time to time. His announcement of moving to Edmonton recently took me by surprise, but kind of made sense as it is definitely a bigger market.

Yesterday, I heard the news of his passing in his sleep. He recently had back surgery, and was in constant pain. The most common belief among his fans and friends is that he may have overmedicated himself.

While his loves of comic books and music, and his authorship is what most people will remember, and rightfully so, what will stick for me is his smile, his sense of humor, and his outgoing and friendly attitude. He was a good man, with a big heart, and his passing will affect many, including me.

Sleep well, Wes. Your stories will live on.

Music Impresario Kim Fowley Obit (1939-2015), by Scott Kempner

Text by Scott Kempner / FFanzeen, 2015

Introduction by Robert Barry Francos, 2015

Kim Fowley was an enigma. He’s one of the more important and shadowy, behind-the-scenes figures in rock and roll history, from its birth through its various forms. He was part of the original West Coast doo wop groups, the Hollywood Argyles who rose to fame with the off-beat novelty ditty, “Ally Oop,” and followed up with a number of his own releases as singles and LPs that were genre bending and leaning towards psychedelia and glam. Kim was also known as the contentious manager and Svengali of the original The Runaways.

There was much that had Kim’s presence in the biz. For example, the experience of holding up a lighter in concerts was his brainchild. He had his hand in John and Yoko playing in Toronto (he even emceed the event), did the first recordings with Jonathan Richman and the Modern Lovers, co-wrote a number of songs with major bands such as KISS, Cat Stevens and Alice Cooper, played on Frank Zappa’s Freak Out!, and… Well, if you want a taste of the man, check out the 2003 documentary, The Mayor of Sunset Strip. Born in California in 1939, the 75 year old Fowley died of bladder cancer on January 15, 2015, in West Hollywood.

Bronx-bred Scott Kempner’s career started with the seminal rock punk (as opposed to punk rock) band, The Dictators, who in 1975 was the first of the bands to spring out of CBGBs to release an album; he was known as Top Ten in those days. He moved on to another well-known band, the Del-Lords, before moving out to California. – RBF

Just heard the news that Kim Fowley has passed away. I didn't meet Kim until the mid-‘80s, at one of the first South By Southwest conferences. I never knew what to make of him from afar, and even when I first got to know him a little, I was a little suspicious. I guess it was kind of a NYC-to-LA trans-continental kind of suspicion. But I did get to know him, and hung out bullshitting with him many memorable times, including one especially memorable week when Stevie Van Zandt had his Underground Garage Festival in NYC in 2004, at which the Dictators performed, and Kim was the MC.

Stevie put both Kim and myself at the same hotel for a week. I would see him for breakfast every day, and we would chat for hours, as he held court, regaling all with his endless tales of rock'n'roll heroes and the sometimes even more interesting also-rans. He was hilarious, original, knowledgeable, madly in love with rock'n'roll, and he knew EVERYBODY!!!

It was a tough time for me, as I had been out of the band [Dictators] for two years, and this was gonna be my first show with them in two years. In fact, if not for Stevie, I don't know if I ever would have played with them again. But, Stevie went to bat for me, and I rejoined the band for another five years, and Kim listened to it all, and always had advice or some bit of Kim wisdom that would lift me and get me through the day. He also never once let me pay for breakfast, and always saved a seat next to him each morning so we could pick up where we left off.

Kim was so gracious, and just a great pal and sounding board. The private Kim was very emotional and sweet, and had so much passion for the music and those that played it. He remembered every detail you had spoken to him about. After that week, we were "officially friends," as he told me. That made me very happy and proud.

He was a prime mover on the West Coast, as I am sure you all know. He seems to have a million friends. Kim's name is on dozens and dozens of hits. A true original, a classic hustler - in the best sense - and one of my favorite people out here on the West Coast. I was always thrilled to run into him. He even knew of the Del-Lords, and our guru/hero, Lou Whitney "and his Trans-Am song". His stories were the very best anybody ever told, or anybody ever heard - if people like Dylan, Morrison, The Stones, The Beatles, The Byrds, Ray Charles (remind me to tell you that one), etc., etc., etc., mean anything to you.

It pains me that the days of running into him at a Springsteen show (at which I saw him at least five or six times), or some other rock event are over. I feel like I will still be looking for him towering above the rest of us, and spotting me before I could spot him and calling me over to regale me with yet another tale that I will be repeating to anyone who'll listen for as long as I live.

I am quite sure I am safe in saying we will never see anyone (even remotely) like Kim Fowley again. R.I.P. Kim, I know there are scores of broken hearts around town right now as the news of your passing spreads. I guarantee you, you will never be forgotten. That's a fact. Goodnight, Kim.