January 13, 2009

At least I think today is the 13th. Anyway...

Sad fucking news people - Ron Asheton, the primary guitarist and arguably the creative director behind the second best American rock and roll band ever, is dead of a heart attack at age 60. Born into eternity on January 7, Ron's death has robbed me of one of my greatest ambitions in life. When it was announced that the Stooges had reunited to play their first shows in thirty years, I was at the height of my adoration.

Two years previous, in 2004, at the age of 18, I discovered Funhouse at my local Best Buy. Based on the graphic art, and a serious recommendaton from the best American rock and roll band ever, I purchased the double disc reissue. I had, two years previous, at the age of 16 checked out The Stooges from my local library. I didn't like it. Now I had the same band's second album - what was I going to do? Listen to it once and return it? I decided to give it a go. I had made mistakes in the past: Limp Bizkit, Audioslave, Chevelle, Glass Jaw, the Grateful Dead, and the Cure. Who knows - I may even like it.

I listened to it once and I couldn't believe my ears. So, I listened to it again. And again. And again. By the end of the day, my life was changed. I called my girlfriend at the time to tell her the good news. She couldn't give a shit. Not disheartened in the least, I went back to Best Buy the next day and picked up the double disc reissue of The Stooges. I was apprehensive at first, since this was the same album I returned to the library after a day of frustration. As soon as I put it in my CD player, and Ron Asheton's wave of wah-wah Bo Diddley buzz-saw hit my ear drums, I was sold. Holy shit - it was just as good as Funhouse. The re-mix helped a lot, but the original power was still there. Thanks to the MC5, I had discovered my second favorite musical act.

I listend to those two albums back to back for a full week; until, that is, my bank account returned to prominence (18 doesn't exactly come with proficient funds). One week later, I went back to Best Buy and found Raw Power. My life was officially changed. I looked back on where I had been and said, "Fuck that." The Stooges gave me a gift in their primal, yet futurical presentation of music as life. The MC5 shined a flood light into my eyes, and Iggy and the boys honed it to a magnifying glass which burned everything that was in their range: progression by regression; creation by destruction. It wasn't my first taste of punk rock, but it was the most important.

As the linear notes of the reissued albums attest, the Stooges catalouge is important. Alice Cooper confesses that the Stooges were the only band he couldn't follow. Jack White claims Funhouse to be the best rock and roll album ever made. And I agree with him. Iggy Pop told an interviewer that during the Raw Power sessions, he would walk about London wearing his cheetah faced leather jacket, a cocktail of drugs and aggression festering within his brain. With no other conclusion to his problems, he figured that the best way to liberate himself from monotony and terror was to destroy everything: "I am the world's forgotten boy/The one who searches only to destory." He didn't have love in his heart, only a desire to incenerate everything that caused him grief.

I connceted with this sentiment in ways I can't rightfully explain. Whatever darkness lives in my soul, this music plays to it. The Stooges don't tempt my anger, they nurish it. The Stooges and Raw Power allow me to be irrate and disgruntled, because it's only human. Funhouse allows me to revel in life while still being able to sit back and examine it.

And let's not forget Ron Asheton's guitar. I can say, without any fear of sounding hyperbolic, that Ron Asheton's guitar on Funhouse is literally the best rock and roll guitar playing ever put to record. Hendrix and Richards and Beck and Clapton (especially Clapton - fuck Eric Clapton) and Page got nothing on Ron "Muther-Fuckin" Asheton. No one used the wah pedal as well as he did, and no one evoked the danger and joy of rock n' roll better than he did. When he wanted to cut you deep, he pulled out a scalpel ("Dirt", "Anne"). When he wanted to take off a limb, he was Jason Voorhes ("Down on the Street", "Dirt", "No Fun", "TV Eye"). When the Stooges got back together, Ron had apparently become even more profescient at his instrument, and his displays as such added even more cerebral layers to the band's aural attack. Quicker, more involved runs and passages in walk-throughs of old pieces made them brisstle with new life. His fret work-outs didn't seem contrived or showy. They were the displays of a more evolved artist. When a cave-man gains a larger vocabulary, he's still a cave-man.

Which brings me back to my main point: I wanted to see the Stooges more than anything (almost) in the world. Now, I won't be able to. Ron's death will no doubt cement their place in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, but what good will that do. It will just prove to be another clear cut case of favoritism. The Ramones weren't in until Joey died. Madonna's only in because she's wildly successful. Even when the Clash were nominated, Joe died a few days before the ceremony. It's almost poetic that the guitarist that time forgot not get to reap the fruits of his labors. If I can work magic and get a ticket to the publicly available induction ceremonies in Cleveland, I'll get to see Iggy, Scott, and Steve MacKay perform with Mike Watt and...who knows. Probablly Thurston Moore, or Jay Maskus, or...who knows? All that really matters is the Stooges are finally getting their just-desserts. The only down-fall is that too much dessert killed their guitarist. So here's to Ron Asheton - wherever you are.

1948-2009