arthur “killer” kane
Who knew? Did anyone know he was sick? [See the Billboard obit.]
I’m just glad he got to play with them one more time. And I’m sad as fucking hell that I wasn’t there to see it.
My rule is always, always: go see the show. You’re rarely upset that you went, but you’ll almost always be upset that you didn’t go (and if you say you weren’t, you’re probably lying). But I couldn’t do this one. For once, it wasn’t work or lameness, either.
I don’t know what they’ll do now. I imagine it will still go on, but we are almost out of New York Dolls, just like we are almost out of Ramones, and I don’t much like the idea of what this planet will be like when this entire generation is gone and we are left with the likes of, say, Guster and Ben Folds and Rufus Wainright (sorry, shirts on the train home tonight, they were at Summerstage I think) and Dave fucking Matthews and Trey Anastasio, all of which are probably fine musicians, but are not interesting or dangerous or exciting or loud or obnoxious or joyous or rebellious, all of which rock and roll is *supposed* to be.
Enjoyed this post? Consider signing up for my monthly newsletter.