R.I.P. Jim Carroll

by Doctor B in Musician Reviews, Opinion Posts, Reviews, Song Reviews, Uncategorized

Death as a subject in rock music (or “nec-rock-philia” as some wags have dubbed it) is nothing new. It showed up in everything from Mark Dinning’s 1959 one-hit wonder Teen Angel, to J. Frank Wilson & The Cavaliers’ romance-comic-like tear-jerker from 1964, Last Kiss to Bloodrock’s grinding, dirgey, death-metallic 1971 hit, DOA. Nonetheless, when Jim Carroll’s single People Who Died arrived at the radio station I spin for back in 1980, my jaw hit the floor. What was this guy up to? What was this guy on?

This record wasn’t just an attempt to get noticed, though it certainly accomplished that. Jim wasn’t merely trying to blow our fuses, though he certainly blew mine. This was his final and very public tribute to friends and companions he’d lost throughout a fascinating and sometimes traumatic youth (read The Basketball Diaries and get a better idea of what I mean). But the tune that this wake on vinyl was set to was as upbeat as anything by the Ramones or Sex Pistols. Rather than serving up a weepy eulogy, Jim chose to commemorate his losses with a tune you could easily pogo-dance to. That was radical

I only saw Jim Carroll in performance once, at Binghamton University in the mid-90’s. He performed solo, reciting his poems and relating riveting, lovingly-detailed stories about his life, all in that trademark wobbly voice.  (Trivia department: some of his relatives were once students there). Some of his recitations were the lyrics from the songs on his early rock albums. Even without musical accompaniment, they still stood out, they still hit the mark. And he didn’t just stand at the lectern for the whole performance. During his recital of I Want The Angel, he moved about much like a cat stalking a mouse and trying to figure out how and when to strike. The next day, he held a writing workshop, where he conferred upon me the best piece of advice for any writer. He told me, don’t worry about how good a story or poem is when you first write it down, let it be as bad as it wants to be. You can always fix it later.

Rock in peace, Jim. The newspapers say that you died while working at your desk. We should all have the privilege of dying while we’re doing something we love when our time inevitably comes. The world of music, stories and poetry is worse off for your sudden and untimely departure. Will Atlantic Records reissue your now out-of-print early-80’s rock albums? We can only hope.

Doctor B. is a DJ at WHRW-FM in Binghamton, NY, where he has spun since 1979. Playlists and podcasts at bartlemania.com.