Rock and roll saved my life. I do not say that lightly, although perhaps I’d be hard pressed to say “from what.” I believe most sincerely that one might be saved through the power of rock and roll; perhaps music in general might free a person, but rock and roll has an especial power to do so. I also do not doubt for one moment that it may have other curative properties that are less well-documented than the holy variety so often mentioned by myself and others. See Bruce Springsteen, “Living on the Edge of the World,” Tracks 2:7 (Columbia Records 1998) (“It’s a hey ho rock and roll, deliver me from nowhere”).
And, just for the record: getting a tattoo? Maybe a big deal pre-1999, but in this Miami Ink world? Nah. Wearing a lot of bracelets and various other jewelry, as is my wont? Snaw-choo, as Sally would say. However, if you wear fishnet hose down yr arms? My friend, you are a total goddamn rock and roll freak if you do that, and for that, I applaud you.
Man, this guy is the bee’s knees. Here’s hoping that the fishnets didn’t come from the body of the hooker in the trunk of his Dodge Neon. Also: geeking out over “Danny Chase” nom du rock. If a Danny Chase can be redeemed by rock n roll, then anyone can!
Aaahghthehadhaaaaah. I love this! I love his little fat eye bulges. Oh, sweet Danny Chase.
THAT is the t-shirt you should make. God. I’d buy it.
I’m glad you liked me at the concert, but for a real show, check me out at the ‘Groovy Mule’ in Denton, TX this Saturday…I’l be the one with fish nets for sleeves and, well, I guess you’ll see me. And by the way, my eyes don’t have “fat bulges.” I was wearing eyeliner and it ran while I cried to my favorite song—”Closer.”
i think i used to sell comic books to danny chase in the mall back in the 90s.
ok, i’m gonna get serious and goob y’all out, but for some reason this makes me tear up. i’ll never forget my first show: victim’s family and the rhythm pigs at lefleur’s bluff, 1986. i went straight from good friday services, so i was wearing my “pretty hip for mississippi” neon, baggy, boy george pants and superhugemongoid sweater vest over tank-top ensemble.
but after i’d sat through the first band and had my mind and heart ripped open, i bought a t-shirt from the merch table, ripped off its sleeves in the bathroom, took the purple mascara out of my purse, and smeared it all over my eyes like siouxsie. i threw my vest in the trash, so i wouldn’t have to carry it around, which got me grounded for a week. well, that and my trainwreck get up.
when my mom picked me up out front of the clubhouse, she looked at me and said, “good gawd!” it was only after that show that i was able to go back to highschool and not give a shit what the mean girls said. and that’s how rock and roll saved my life. sorry to go on like this. thank you for indulging me, gorjus…
i’m with you, vendela. i don’t think this is a rip on danny chase, it’s a toast to the danny chases of the world.
god, when i think back on me noodle-dancing at phish shows in the 90’s, i shudder. but that was me, and it was fun, and i thought me and my friends were the smartest, coolest people in the world. and now look at me…
geeking out over “Danny Chase” nom du rock
I’m with the Professor on this one. Go Danny! (If Marv Wolfman had only thought of the fishnets, things might have gone so differently for young Master Chase… Though he was at least eventually redeemed as Phantasm.)
“Our band could be your life/Real names will be the proof/Me and Mike Watt, we played for years,/But punk rock changed our life.
We learned punk rock in Hollywood./Drove up from Pedro./We were fucking corn dogs./We’d go drink and pogo.
Mr. Narrator,/This is Bob Dylan to me./My story could be his songs,/I am his soldier child.
Our band is scientist rock./’Cause I was E. Bloom, Richard Hell,/Joe Strummer and John Doe./Me and Mike Watt, playing guitar.”
—The Minutemen, “History Lesson, Part II” from Double Nickels on the Dime.
At 15, after lying to my parents about where I’d be staying, I rode in a VW Beetle with 4 others from Chattanooga to Atlanta, to the now defunct Metroplex, and watched from the balcony as the Butthole Surfers did what they did. For me, there was no turning back. I’m not sure “saved” is exactly the operative concept in this case, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.