Lux Interior (1946-2009)
Tuesday, February 10, 2009 at 9:47PM Lux Interior (1946-2009)
(An homage channeled and written through the genius of Paddy Chayefsky and Peter Finch.)
Cue Announcer.
Announcer: And now… the mad prophet of the blogosphere… C. Adolph Moores.
Lux Interior died last week.
Lux Interior was the lead singer and front man for a very unique bit of musical tomfoolery known as The Cramps.
He died on February 4th, 2009 of a heart condition and WOE IS US. WE’RE IN A LOT OF TROUBLE.
So, a drug addled, transvestite, pseudo-Elvis impersonator died. What does that have to do with the price of rice you ask?
And why is that WOE TO US?
Because you people, and 300 million other Americans are listening to shitty music right now. Less than 3% of you know who Captain Beefheart or Screamin’ Jay Hawkins are. Only 15% of you have ever heard of Tom Waits or Iggy Pop.
Hell, Joe Strummer and Warren Zevon died and you celebrated it with the emergence of American Idol.
Few of you read news anymore. Even less of you ever pick up a book. The only truth you know comes to you via television or these bits of information across the intertoobs.
Right now, there is an entire generation of Americans that don’t know anything they haven’t seen or read that wasn’t vomited out of this goddamn machine.
This box is your gospel. The ultimate revelation. This computer can make or break Presidents, Popes, Prime Ministers and even celebrities. We are absolutely public now… for everyone to see… 24-7, 52 per year. There is nothing anyone can do that isn’t filmed, recorded or witnessed by someone. And that someone will be sure to make it known if there is a penny or ounce of fame involved in its revealing.
And everyone wants to be famous.
These computers are the most awesome goddamn force in the whole godless world.
And WOE IS US that technology has fallen into the wrong hands.
Namely, ours.
Because now everyone thinks they have something legitimate to offer. Fools without a dram of artistic talent are free to regurgitate their “visions” to the world. Our culture has fostered a belief that anybody (which unfortunately does include everyone) has a legitimate voice in our cultural and artistic proceedings.
And that is why WOE IS US that Lux Interior died last week.
The music industry has been in the hands of corporate-minded jackasses and shallow barkers since the first caveman laid stick to rock in rhythmic bliss. Gork assuredly felt that Thrak’s pounding needed a softer, more accessible edge for a larger tribal audience and, perhaps, a few dancers to accompany him (an image Lux’s more Cro-magnon instincts would appreciate).
The relationship between artist and salesman has not significantly improved since.
The music industry has become a goddamn amusement park. When the top five largest companies in the world control the most awesome goddamn propaganda force in the universe, you see what kind of shit starts substituting for listenable music. The music industry is no longer a carnival of storytellers, singers, troubadours, misfits, junkies, rebels, animals, drug addicts, hellions or side show freaks.
It’s safe. It speaks of love. Not communal, global love mind you, but selfish, individual love. The possession of emotion. The proprietary arrangements of the senses.
And that is why WOE IS US that Lux Interior died.
Lux laid rock n’ roll out bare. Funny, I’m not even embarrassed to write that last sentence. I think there have been a few good things that have arisen from American culture: Jazz, the Gridiron, The Constitution (specifically the separation of church and state bit - let’s begin that soon!), great pizza, beautiful porn actresses, the defeat of the Confederacy, individualism and rock ‘n’ roll. Most of those are not spiritually exclusive.
Lux espoused all of those things. Well, I don’t know if he was a big jazz or pizza fan but, as a musician, he radiated a belief that all things were possible in this otherwise dumb ass country. Precisely, the ability to take your pants off onstage, sweat profusely, breathe into a fellated microphone, sing about aliens, bikini babes, machine guns, poon, whiskey, butter, BBW, whips, chains and chickens. All the while sporting a disheveled pompadour and, quite often, fishnets and heels.
He was a true American original.
And he was an animal on stage. Next to Freddie Mercury, I can’t think of another who commanded it so brilliantly. When Lux was on, there was very little else in the place but awe, decadence and good fucking times.
So turn your music off tonight. Whatever it is you’re listening to. Shove your iPod up your ass and listen for once. Give a little nod to an American primitive.
If you own a Cramps’ LP, 45, EP, MP3, CD, 8 track, cassette or whatever, put it on.
If you don’t, fuck you.
Sit in silence for about three minutes. You owe the man that much.
For truly fighting for the individualism everyone claims by generational proxy.
And living an artistic dream when there was some real personal risk in the undertaking.
If you don't believe me, get a load of THIS.
I'd love to see Jessica Simpson or Justin Timberlake try that and survive amongst the natives.
Actually, if told to, they'd eat it up and consider it cutting edge. Nearly thirty years too late.
And that is why, WOE IS US, Lux Interior died.
Reader Comments (1)
Lux.