June 22, 2012
And In The End...
by Chris Randall
This time it came through Facebook. We've gotten the news first hand, second hand, over the phone, via email, pretty much any communication medium we humans possess. "Hey, Chris, did you hear? One of your friends died."
The worst is finding out how.
There's a certain schadenfreude to be had in passing the news along. You don't want to be tail-end Charlie, the last one in line, because that guy has to carry the burden or something. So you have to get rid of the news as soon as you can. With today's instant communication, bad news travels fast (much faster, it seems, than good news) and one can divest oneself of this terrible thing in a hurry. Everyone in my circle of peers in the music industry has had to go through this multiple times, and we all have a pretty advanced skill set for dealing with it. That doesn't make it any easier, any time. But this time... fuck.
To say Jamie Duffy was my friend is to greatly devalue the word "friend," and also to claim possession of something that was shared by virtually everyone in the Chicago music scene for the last 20-odd years. He wasn't my friend any more than he was anyone else's friend. He just was. Everybody's. Friend.
I'm trying to come up with some sort of anecdote that I can point to and say "Jamie Duffy was X because Y." But there's not any particular scenario I can put my finger on. I can't even recall how many tours we were on together, or how many times he mixed a band or played at Metro while I was doing lights, or how many of my shows he did sound for, or how many songs of mine he engineered or seconded on, or how many times I ran in to him at Dome Room or Neo or Crowbar or House of Blues...
I am, however, thinking of this one night at Crowbar, October 12th, 1995. He and I are leaning against the bar, and I'm eyeballing this girl I've been eyeballing for a couple weeks at various clubs around Chicago. Jamie leans over to me and says "dude, if you don't fucking talk to that chick soon, I swear to god..." And I'm all "fine, okay, I'm going." And I go over and introduce myself to the woman I've been married to for 17 years.
I would like to think every music scene, in every city around the world, has a Jamie. That guy that just makes things happen. The dependable, nice guy that maybe drinks a bit too much, but it's okay, because he's Jamie. That dependable guy who can get a bit moody, but hey, everyone has bad days, and that's just Jamie. That guy you could depend on.
We lost our Jamie. Don't you lose yours. Stay frosty. If someone's asking for help, even if they don't know they're asking, give it to them. You depend on them, but they're depending on you too. If you miss it, you'll hate yourself later. Trust me on this.
Please read Jim Marcus' lovely piece about Jamie and all of us. I didn't know what I wanted to say, but Jim said it for me.
The worst is finding out how.
There's a certain schadenfreude to be had in passing the news along. You don't want to be tail-end Charlie, the last one in line, because that guy has to carry the burden or something. So you have to get rid of the news as soon as you can. With today's instant communication, bad news travels fast (much faster, it seems, than good news) and one can divest oneself of this terrible thing in a hurry. Everyone in my circle of peers in the music industry has had to go through this multiple times, and we all have a pretty advanced skill set for dealing with it. That doesn't make it any easier, any time. But this time... fuck.
To say Jamie Duffy was my friend is to greatly devalue the word "friend," and also to claim possession of something that was shared by virtually everyone in the Chicago music scene for the last 20-odd years. He wasn't my friend any more than he was anyone else's friend. He just was. Everybody's. Friend.
I'm trying to come up with some sort of anecdote that I can point to and say "Jamie Duffy was X because Y." But there's not any particular scenario I can put my finger on. I can't even recall how many tours we were on together, or how many times he mixed a band or played at Metro while I was doing lights, or how many of my shows he did sound for, or how many songs of mine he engineered or seconded on, or how many times I ran in to him at Dome Room or Neo or Crowbar or House of Blues...
I am, however, thinking of this one night at Crowbar, October 12th, 1995. He and I are leaning against the bar, and I'm eyeballing this girl I've been eyeballing for a couple weeks at various clubs around Chicago. Jamie leans over to me and says "dude, if you don't fucking talk to that chick soon, I swear to god..." And I'm all "fine, okay, I'm going." And I go over and introduce myself to the woman I've been married to for 17 years.
I would like to think every music scene, in every city around the world, has a Jamie. That guy that just makes things happen. The dependable, nice guy that maybe drinks a bit too much, but it's okay, because he's Jamie. That dependable guy who can get a bit moody, but hey, everyone has bad days, and that's just Jamie. That guy you could depend on.
We lost our Jamie. Don't you lose yours. Stay frosty. If someone's asking for help, even if they don't know they're asking, give it to them. You depend on them, but they're depending on you too. If you miss it, you'll hate yourself later. Trust me on this.
Please read Jim Marcus' lovely piece about Jamie and all of us. I didn't know what I wanted to say, but Jim said it for me.
17 comments:
Something made me think of Jamie on my commute to work yesterday. I have no idea what prompted it, but for a brief second, my train of thought went, "Jamie Duffy... It's only a matter of time before I run into that guy out here. He was always a touring sound man, and I go to tons of shows out here, so I'm sure eventually I'll see a a band he's engineering and I'll get to say 'hello' for a second. That'd be cool." I didn't give it a second thought, I just went about my business.
Two hours later, I got a text from a the owner of a nightclub that Jamie had engineered and played at well over 100 times. It just said, "Jamie Duffy died last night."
I barely knew Jamie, but every interaction I had with him, without exception, was positive. I first met him when he was the sound man for your small 6.0 tour. I had seen him on stage a couple of times with Acumen, but this was the first time I met him. Our interaction was brief, but about a week later, I went and saw your show at The Metro. As I was leaving, Jamie happened to see me walking out, and he came up and shook my hand and asked if I had a good night. I remember being surprised that he remembered me, but I was also very flattered. He made me feel cool for a second.
For the next couple of years, I probably saw Jamie every few months when he came through The Warehouse. He always recognized me, and that always meant a lot. I was at the bottom of the food chain there, and I'm sure he ran into hundreds of guys like me every day. I always thought it was really cool of him to remember me when he had no real reason to.
We weren't friends, and had I run into him out here, he probably wouldn't had recognized me (it's been years since I've hauled gear at The Warehouse). But every interaction I had with him was great, and I wish I knew more guys like him. I'm genuinely sad about what the answer is to my mental question yesterday.
Two hours later, I got a text from a the owner of a nightclub that Jamie had engineered and played at well over 100 times. It just said, "Jamie Duffy died last night."
I barely knew Jamie, but every interaction I had with him, without exception, was positive. I first met him when he was the sound man for your small 6.0 tour. I had seen him on stage a couple of times with Acumen, but this was the first time I met him. Our interaction was brief, but about a week later, I went and saw your show at The Metro. As I was leaving, Jamie happened to see me walking out, and he came up and shook my hand and asked if I had a good night. I remember being surprised that he remembered me, but I was also very flattered. He made me feel cool for a second.
For the next couple of years, I probably saw Jamie every few months when he came through The Warehouse. He always recognized me, and that always meant a lot. I was at the bottom of the food chain there, and I'm sure he ran into hundreds of guys like me every day. I always thought it was really cool of him to remember me when he had no real reason to.
We weren't friends, and had I run into him out here, he probably wouldn't had recognized me (it's been years since I've hauled gear at The Warehouse). But every interaction I had with him was great, and I wish I knew more guys like him. I'm genuinely sad about what the answer is to my mental question yesterday.
Yes, no one will ask for help - you have to find a way to be of service, to share your abundance and show You care
Sorry for your loss-
Sorry for your loss-
I first heard Acumen when I was sneaking into Baltimore goth clubs in the mid 90s with a fake ID. I'm pretty sure that Gunlover was the first song that I ever asked a DJ about and Acumen quickly became my favorite band. I wish I had a heart felt story to tell about Jamie but, I only met him once at a show. I can however say that my dating life depended on mix CDs that I made and gave to girls back then. Acumen was on every single one of them, including the one that I gave to my now wife. Thanks Jamie.
The first time I quit Facebook (not this most recent time; I can't say I won't rejoin/quit again) was prompted by waking up one morning and finding out a friend from college had killed himself. Now I hadn't seen Kevin since I left Vermont for NYC via DC, and we weren't the sort of friends that kept up on each others lives or to make sure I stayed current on his whereabouts. But, sort of how y'all describe Jamie, everyone was Kevin's friend. He was a dude who made shit happen. He had a zest for life, for seeking adventure, for making everyone feel included. If there was a new face on campus Kevin wouldn't hesitate to talk to them, show them around. And when things got shitty, Kevin was the first dude there to deal with mess.?
What happened in his life that led to this? It seemed so out of character for him. Which led me to realize that I had no real idea of who he was, or where his life had gone. But on Facebook there was a morning of slight saddened/distressed wall posts then back to Scrabble and YouTube links and inconsequential chatter. And the final straw was going to his memorial service up in Maine. Now, I understand that for me it was only a two hour car ride, and if it had been farther I probably wouldn't have gone. I'm not sure what I was expecting. But there were only two other people I knew from college there. I honestly can think of one person who might not have liked Kevin. Everyone else, not one bad word. And listening to his family and post-college friends talk about his life illustrated that he was indeed that guy, loved trying new things, adventure and challenges, starting preposterous business ventures, meeting new people. (Of course, anyone with familiarity with mental illness will recognize the dark side that hints at.) Not to put too fine --or solipsistic-- a point on it, but it made me gander at my morality and legacy in pretty stark terms. Kevin was loved and engaged in life, and people could barely take time out from Facebook to grieve that in any meaningful way.
If any one friend had written what you have shared here, or what Jim has, perhaps I wouldn't have felt quite so despairing. And I see now that how I felt about it was more indicative of where I was in my life than how other people were mourning. But it was both depressing and oddly motivating. It made me wonder that despite this illusion that we're all connected and more involved in each other's lives, are we really? And that I didn't want my legacy to be a game of telephone on Facebook.
Sorry if this was sorta tangential. Coincidentally, last week I bought a couple of 80s-era Wax Trax eps on vinyl, and from the names you and Jim are speaking of I know I've heard Jamie's work. Regardless, he was special enough to have some smart, artistic people speaking for him, giving his life a final bit of meaning even if he couldn't see it at the time.?
Peace.
What happened in his life that led to this? It seemed so out of character for him. Which led me to realize that I had no real idea of who he was, or where his life had gone. But on Facebook there was a morning of slight saddened/distressed wall posts then back to Scrabble and YouTube links and inconsequential chatter. And the final straw was going to his memorial service up in Maine. Now, I understand that for me it was only a two hour car ride, and if it had been farther I probably wouldn't have gone. I'm not sure what I was expecting. But there were only two other people I knew from college there. I honestly can think of one person who might not have liked Kevin. Everyone else, not one bad word. And listening to his family and post-college friends talk about his life illustrated that he was indeed that guy, loved trying new things, adventure and challenges, starting preposterous business ventures, meeting new people. (Of course, anyone with familiarity with mental illness will recognize the dark side that hints at.) Not to put too fine --or solipsistic-- a point on it, but it made me gander at my morality and legacy in pretty stark terms. Kevin was loved and engaged in life, and people could barely take time out from Facebook to grieve that in any meaningful way.
If any one friend had written what you have shared here, or what Jim has, perhaps I wouldn't have felt quite so despairing. And I see now that how I felt about it was more indicative of where I was in my life than how other people were mourning. But it was both depressing and oddly motivating. It made me wonder that despite this illusion that we're all connected and more involved in each other's lives, are we really? And that I didn't want my legacy to be a game of telephone on Facebook.
Sorry if this was sorta tangential. Coincidentally, last week I bought a couple of 80s-era Wax Trax eps on vinyl, and from the names you and Jim are speaking of I know I've heard Jamie's work. Regardless, he was special enough to have some smart, artistic people speaking for him, giving his life a final bit of meaning even if he couldn't see it at the time.?
Peace.
Still doesn't feel real. I feel like I'm going to see him at Cubby Bear soon, bitching about a jam band that plays too long or hear his critical, yet funny complaints about music production. Certainly not ready to say goodbye and it still has me shocked.
I really feel bad for Patricia, his mother. She is a super cool woman, came to every show he played, and a lot he didn't. Total troublemaker just for the sake of it too, and that's the sort of thing I appreciate. It was years before I knew her name, although I saw her often. She was always just "Jamie's Mom" to everyone I know.
And there's the thing. I can't even begin to fathom what it must be like to lose a child, but to couple it with the fact that in this fairly large and close community, that child more or less constitutes your identity? Fuuuuuuuck. I truly feel for Pat, and I hope everyone there is helping her get through this.
-CR
And there's the thing. I can't even begin to fathom what it must be like to lose a child, but to couple it with the fact that in this fairly large and close community, that child more or less constitutes your identity? Fuuuuuuuck. I truly feel for Pat, and I hope everyone there is helping her get through this.
-CR
My deepest condolences. I lost my young BIL recently and feel so much for his parents (who lost his older brother 18 years ago, so they have survived both their children). It's a strange thing to experience on Facebook, the day after he died my SIL posted through his account to notify people she didn't have phone numbers for. Those fleeting seconds when I saw that 'he' had posted an update were when it all-too-briefly seemed like a bad dream.
Just curious about something else: when you spoke to your future wife for the first time was it to a soundtrack by DJ Psychobitch? She seemed to be dj'ing every time I ever went there.
Just curious about something else: when you spoke to your future wife for the first time was it to a soundtrack by DJ Psychobitch? She seemed to be dj'ing every time I ever went there.
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