MORE FEWSTER!

Thoughts on Billy Zoom, Co-Founder of LA Punk Band "X"

Billy Freakin' Zoom

BILLY ZOOM (by David Fewster)

1.

For the past decade or so

(ever since his cancer diagnosis)

Billy Zoom has taken to ambling

onstage about 20 minutes after the opening act,

while the houselights are still on,

where he will tune his guitar,

fiddle with his amp settings,

do a mini-sound check

(because he doesn't trust a roadie to do it?)

and then sit in his special chair

and chat a bit with the crowd.

AND STAY THERE.

Which totally negates the concept of

"The Big Entrance", where everything's dark

and then a spotlight gleams and

RA-TA-DA-TA-DA-DA!

the band runs out and everyone goes wild.

Instead, DJ, John and Exene are left

to shuffle onstage like stragglers

getting on the tour bus to see

the homes of famous stars.

Because Billy Zoom is a goddamn subversive.

He doesn't give a rat's ass about

your stupid hackneyed show biz conventions.

Billy Zoom is perhaps

the coolest person on earth.

2.

I dropped out of college and moved to LA

in the summer of '77,

the same year the Masque started.

I had vague aspirations of being a comic folksinger,

a mix of Tom Lehrer, Lenny Bruce, and the Bonzo Dog Band,

but mainly I just wanted to go someplace

where absolutely no one knew me

and I could reinvent myself into

somebody less boring.

I was aware of the new-fangled punk rock,

but it was pretty scary to me,

as it seemed to be populated mainly

by the cool kids in high school who were

already having sex and taking drugs

and had an esoteric dress code

and who were invariably mean and snarky to me,

and why would I want to grovel

to join their club?

Plus, they all liked Bowie

and I thought Neil Young's "Zuma"

was the greatest record of all time.

(I still do--fight me.)

On the other hand, it took me no time at all

to come to the conclusion that the Doors

were the spiritual house band of Los Angeles,

and how you felt about that would pretty much

be a barometer for how good of a time

you were going to have in

the City of Angels.

Luckily, I loved the Doors. Every time I heard

"Can you picture what will be? / So limitless and free

Desperately in need of some stranger's hand

In a desperate land"

I would burst into tears and blubber

"Oh Lord, this is MY OWN STORY."

All in all, I felt about LA

like Henry Miller felt about Paris.

The point is, I was in a receptive mood

when my buddy's roommate in Hollywood

put the first X album on the stereo.

I literally rolled around the floor when

"Soul Kitchen" came blasting out the speakers.

The tempo, Exene's vocal inflections, the bizarre harmonies,

but especially that guitar--Billy Riley's

Flying Saucer Rock and Roll played by an actual alien,

and if you didn't believe it all you had to do

was see him onstage--legs akimbo like

someone starting the splits and

getting distracted halfway into it,

staring at the crowd with nary a glance

at his fretboard while wearing

a constant shit-eating grin that might

or might not be benign.

I even went to see his one-off side project

"The Billy Zoom Band" at the Whisky,

where he played the entire Sun Records catalogue

note for note so I could see how it's done.

I bought a Gretsch!

And the best show I saw in LA

was a surprise gig at Club 88 in 1981,

which X and the Blasters did right after

the Blaster's first album and X's second

both made Newsweek's Best 10 Albums of the Year

and we were all on the top of the world.

3.

Smoking on the sidewalk in Menlo Park

a couple hours before X's Farewell Tour,

I spot my fellow ticket-holders by

their gray hair and black t-shirts

displaying bands at least 30 years old.

Time has not been kind to my peers in the pit--

in the last decade, it's become like

the Death March to Bataan--

me, I'm 65, with COPD, hemorrhoids, anemia,

so the second I get thru the lobby

I scan the floor for some kind of support

and find it in the form of a plastic trashcan

about butt-high by the staircase, where I can

sort of sit in comfort and still see the band

from the waist up. And, thank God, the show was great--

Exene looked and sounded fantastic,

John Doe resembles the grandfather in

"The Grapes of Wrath" more and more each year,

DJ Bonebrake was his usual robust & goofy self,

Billy sat in his comfy chair

riffing and showboating, occasionally

walking four feet to his saxophone

which was on a stand so he

wouldn't have to unstrap his guitar

(he licked the pick and stuck it to his forehead

during sax solos--what a card!)

Finally, after an exhilarating set and encore, they close with

"I Must Not Think Bad Thoughts" and there's

this big commotion I can't determine the cause of

so I stand up on tiptoe and see--

OMG! Billy Zoom is assuming THE STANCE!

Slowly, true, and with great determination

he positions himself in a replica

of his former spread-eagled glory.

I glance to the rafters to look for

evidence of trick wires, etc., but no--

It's true. This is really happening.

It was a Miracle at Lourdes.

A return to Shangri-La.

It was 1979 again.

Isn't it strange, the odd moments

when suddenly you find yourself thinking

we're all going to die soon?

--David Fewster (from Four Feather Press anthology "Doors of Southern California: Portal Poetry")

And here is an interesting piece about “Soul Kitchen” by X (DannyM.)