As most of y'all know by now, Cramps frontman Lux Interior watusi'd his way off this mortal coil last week. Much as I loved them, I don't think I can add much about what they meant (in the grand musical scheme of things) to this fine, fine obit written by my pal Tim Stegall. I would like to say a few things, though, about what they meant to me...
I think it was my friend Tracy who turned me on to them back in high school, throwing "Human Fly" and a few other choice cuts onto a mix tape, and I was immediately enchanted by their combination of 50s horror flick imagery (it would be another coupla years before I learned about Screamin' Jay Hawkins or the Misfits) and no-budget rockabilly grind. I wanted to see them when they played the Metro soon after (this woulda been like '83 or early '84), but I couldn't afford a ticket; didn't actually wind up seeing 'em live until the late '90s — more on that in a sec...
When I got to college and began jamming with what would become my first band, our bassist Bob insisted that we cover "Goo Goo Muck" — a song whose rudimentary chord progression and lust-crazed monster lyrics put it right in our wheelhouse. Even the name we eventually decided on, Voodoo Sex Party, showed more than a touch of Crampsian influence.
But in many ways, the biggest influence the Cramps had on my life came from the interview Lux and his gorgeous and talented wife/guitar-slinger/partner in crime Poison Ivy Rorschach gave Re:Search's Incredibly Strange Music, Vol. I, in which they talked about some of their favorite records — many of which I'd never heard (much less even heard of) at that time. That interview single-handedly turned me on to Korla Pandit, Andre Williams, Little JImmy Scott, Ronnie Dawson and Charlie Feathers, to name but a few; but more than that, it opened my mind to a whole world of glorious trash that I'd been only dimly aware of up to that point. Obviously, the Cramps covered a lot of great songs (and saved many from utter obscurity) throughout their three-decade-plus career, but Lux and Ivy were also incredibly knowledgeable and articulate evangelists for a musical aesthetic that had hitherto been almost entirely ignored or dismissed by the mainstream rock critic establishment. It was from them (and from Kicks, the genius fanzine run by Billy MIller and early Cramps drummer Miriam Linna) that I learned that a deranged rockabilly side or a demented doo-wop platter could be as exciting as any 60s garage or 70s punk single, and I am a happier, better man for it. Check out the legendary Purple Knif Show — which is basically Lux getting down on the air and playing some of his favorite records in the guise of a '50s-style DJ — or this radio interview that they gave in 2004 for further elucidation and illumination.
I finally got to see them in '97 or '98 at the House of Blues with Carole (who actually once caught the band back in their Bryan Gregory days), and we were both absolutely blown away by them. Ivy, who looked like she hadn't aged a day since the band's inception, cranked out one reverb-caked riff after abother while wearing little more than a nude-colored body stocking, a vintage Gretsh and a bored sneer. Lux was absolutely out of his mind from the get-go, a shamanic Elvis in PVC pants with a microphone jammed halfway down his throat. The band played one classic cut after another, but the songs themselves were almost beside the point; what really mattered was the voodoo intensity which kept steadily ratcheting up as the night went on. Because unlike most record collectors who play in bands, Lux and Ivy didn't worry about trying to imitate their favorite artists or recordings — they went right past the notes, chords and lyrics and tapped straight into the primal, sexually-charged insanity that lay at the root of it all. At the end of the show, during a climactic encore version of "The Crusher," Lux (who was by now more or less naked) took a fearsome spill off the drum riser and on to a broken wine bottle that he'd recently emptied; it was scary enough that even Ivy briefly looked up to check on him, but he was fine. You wouldn't figure a guy with that kind of resilience would suddenly drop dead at the still-young age of 62, but there you go...
While I feel sad about Lux, I even feel even sadder for Ivy. Not only are the Cramps effectively over, but she's lost her husband and soul mate as well. Hopefully she's aware of just how much people loved her and Lux, and what a difference the Cramps made on so many lives, including mine. R.I.P., Lux; I know there will always be a lotta rhythm in your rockin' bones...
Yeah, this was probably the toughest obit i've seen in years. It's still hard to put into words. A great guy, a huge influence and far, far too young. I seriously can't imagine what Ivy is going through after all their time together. Truly brings a tear to my eyes...
Posted by: Rich | February 09, 2009 at 03:52 PM