To add to the injustices of this year thus far, a capper. Lux Interior, frontman of the seminal 1970s punk-rock-a-billy band The Cramps, has died. One of the greatest frontmen in rock history. If not THE best. Others come close — Dave Vanian, Mark Mothersbaugh, Iggy, Mick, Daltrey, etc. — but few came close to the visceral energy and lust for life (sorry Ig) that Lux put into each and every goddamned performance. I was just listening to the Cramps and saying that I was worried about them — that they hadn’t toured in a while, and hadn’t recorded any new music either. Little did I know. I’m gonna miss them more than I can probably express. Lux and Ivy were role models for any alterna-couple, and were always what I hoped would be the ultimate fate of Jenn and me: living life how we wanted, on our own terms and fiercely in love with each other. And fuck it, man; they still are my role models. They set a goddamned standard that should be followed by anyone.
Now when I die, don’tcha bury me at all.
Just nail those bones up on the wall.
Beneath these bones let these words be seen:
“This is the bloody gears of a boppin’ machine.”