Not With You, But Of You: October 2021

Monday, October 4, 2021

Letter to Rolling Stone

Submitted by Dan Kenna

Berlin 2/21/95 2.30 pm

Dear Rolling Stone

Although I haven’t seen it yet my friends tell me that there’s a Buckley/Etheridge photo-op in your last issue taken at the Rock N Roll Hall of Fame Ceremony. There’s some mention (although I’m not sure yet) of my breaking down into tears for some reason or other. I’ll give you the deal in full.
As for Melissa she was just trying to ease past my table...she doesn’t even know me. Some photo-goon shouted for her to pose with me. “Melissa! Over here!” All she could do was stare at me comically and say “Who’s this guy?!” Whatever. Our fault for being there at the right moment.
However I WAS the guy in the ugly orange jacket who left the dining area in tears.
I lost almost every tear I had because of Frank Zappa. I lost every funeral tear for him in a dining room at the stinking Waldorf Astoria Hotel as I watched the INDUSTRY finally allow Frank Zappa, safely gone from the world, to be inducted into its rock n roll heaven. I wept and I wanted to light the whole fucking place on fire. I was so sad and so angry, what the FUCK was I doing there? Why tonight? Anybody who knows a shred of Frank’s history can tell you that his relationships with his record labels (barring his own) were completely adversarial. Bitter. Corrupt. A few choice words come to my mind thinking back on the stories I knew as a kid when I first started listening to him.
During the ceremony, I saw a man on the stage tell the audience that when the Mothers first came on the scene in ‘66, boy did the rocknroll public sit up and take notice that times were changin.
I really wish that this was true. In reality NOBODY gave a DAMN except a few on the side of freakness. And since the beginning of Frank’s career he was constantly IGNORED and TRIVIALIZED by the record buying public…industry...Rock Gods...whatever.
Ask any artist in the room with me that night, they’ll tell you. Maybe.
The award for me was as sweet as a mouthful of ear-wax.
After years and years of loving and listening to him, I couldn’t help it.
So I broke down, his bearded visage on a huge video screen, with no Frank to accept his award.
No Frank. Beautiful intelligent Frank.
I cried because my friend Lenny was there and he understood my face.
I cried because a real true spark of light had actually disappeared from my world…And I didn’t see it coming.
I cried because there’s a boy inside of me who looked to Frank to untangle the satanic mess of American politics and the voodoo cocktail of the music industry.
I cried because he fought against the system that fucked with so many, destroyed a few, but never destroyed him. Go to the record store, call up Barking Pumpkin, see if he won.
He kicked it’s ass for good.
I cried because I loved him…And now he’s gone and I’ll never ever know him.
I cried because there was something in Lou’s* voice while he gave Frank’s induction speech that told me that now was the time to mourn Frank Zappa. I hadn't before, for some reason.
So I mourned. I’m sorry it made it into the papers.
I write this letter dressed in black, one cup of black coffee on the right, soundcheck blaring in Berlin background, having to weep very soon in secret.
I love you Frank. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.
Goodnight Austin Texas, wherever you are…

Jeff Buckley
(*Lou’s voice…meaning Lou Reed...that’s a whole other letter. Bollocks to the Hall of Fame.)