RIP, Lux Interior

When I was a really young, impressionable adolescent full of idiosyncrasies, I had a very special friend named Rene. He introduced me to worlds of exciting and new things. He was the epitome of cool to me: a boxer’s face but impeccably dressed. He rode a Lamberetta scooter and always wore the sharpest shoes. He was older than me and he knew so much of things that, to me, seemed so far away and exotic. Things that seemed out of this world. Rene owned a phonograph that could play 45s—this was way before everyone in my little bubble owned one. He even taught me how to listen to music!

“CD’s are just digital information,” he would say.

At the time I had no idea of what he was talking about. All I knew was that he played the best damn music on that thing. He lived in his mom’s garage and that meant we could play it as loud as we wanted to, usually.

Of all the rare and extraordinary things he introduced to me, none was more influential and resonant, than the tons of music he would play me. Things I had never heard of. I had already been a big fan of music at that point, and although I thought of myself as a rare specimen of impeccable taste in this urban jungle of mine, I didn’t hold a candle to his varying collection. While my listening ventures consisted of an intense love of Anglophile music (the Smiths, Echo and the Bunnymen, Stone Roses), protest music (Public Enemy, the Clash) and any other rebel music I could find, none was as rebellious as some of the music he played on his record player. The music he played was so new and fresh. It was music that made me want to start a band or start some sort of riot. Life changing music. The kind that mobilized, stirred, moved, even shocked in the purest and most uncontrived way.

He would play bands like The Make Up, Nation of Ulysses, and Delta 72. He played Northern Soul Records and 1950’s Rockabilly records. Usually every band that he introduced me to turned me on to something else. Ian Svenious gave me my appreciation for Iggy Pop and even Prince. Delta 72 lead me to blues and more garage. The Make Up led me Bomboras and Guitar Wolf. There was an endless discovery to be made. One door opened another and so on. This cycle was one of my biggest joys.

Of all the bands he played on that phonograph, there was no band that opened more doors to me, and simultaneously rewarded me back with their incredible catalog, than the Cramps. I remember we used to play them really loud, as they needed to be heard. The Cramps had a sound that I have always found attractive—it was rebel music but had an origin that was somewhat implacable.

Was it Rockabilly? Was it simply Garage? Was it Punk?

It was special.

Even more special when you saw it live, Rene would tell me. He described the singer’s antics on stage like Iggy Pop meets Ian Curtis meets Richard Hell. His name was Lux Interior. Lux and his wife, Poison Ivy, founded The Cramps in the 1970s. They pioneered punk music to another place, moving it forward. Garage music was never the same after them. They pushed it to another level. There was something about them that I absolutely loved. Even now I can’t describe the feeling.

I was lucky enough to see them perform a couple of years after that. From this show alone I can tell you that Lux was and is an icon. He will forever be. He was an incredible frontman. His presence was larger than life and when he performed he created a whole other world. They were the first band and only band that I know of to have played at a mental hospital for patients and, furthermore, release a record of it later on Live at Napa State Mental Hospital (I still own this, by the way).

This to me was genius. Their own way. The only way. Their standard. No one else’s.

My favorite records were “Songs the Lord Taught Us” and “Psychedelic Jungle”. There is no denying “Psychedelic Jungle”. “Human Fly” always reminds me to be inventive and creative in any endeavor.

The Cramps set in motion my huge obsession for obscure music. Different music. Deviant music. One of the best things I ever bought was the “Born Bad” collections. “Born Bad” was a compilation series curated by the Cramps. At the time it wasn’t easy to find. Jimmy Lloyd, Andre Williams, Dale Hawkins, Shondells, The Sonics, Hasil Adkins. These were artist I would never had known about had it not been for Lux and his Ivy.

I found out yesterday morning from a music site that Lux Interior died in Glendale, California February 4. He passed away at Glendale Memorial Hospital at 4:30 am due to a previously existing heart condition.

I will miss him. I will miss the Cramps. I read somewhere that Bobby Gillespie named his kid Lux. That is the testament to the greatness and influence he had and will always have on us– those of us not content with the norm, starving for inventiveness and originality.

-Harley Prechtel-Cortez, 2/6/09

“I got 96 tears in 96 eyes.”- The Cramps