PLEASE READ BLOG BEFORE ADDING BILL HICKS AS A FRIEND
February 7, 1994 –
I was born William Melvin Hicks on December 16, 1961 in Valdosta, Georgia. Ugh. Melvin Hicks from Georgia. Yee Har! I already had gotten off to life on the wrong foot. I was always “awake,†I guess you’d say. Some part of me clamoring for new insights and new ways to make the world a better place.
All of this came out years down the line, in my multitude of creative interests that are the tools I now bring to the Party. Writing, acting, music, comedy. A deep love of literature and books. Thank God for all the artists who’ve helped me. I’d read these words and off I went – dreaming my own imaginative dreams. Exercising them at will, eventually to form bands, comedy, more bands, movies, anything creative. This is the coin of the realm I use in my words – Vision.
On June 16, 1993 I was diagnosed with having “liver cancer that had spread from the pancreas.†One of life’s weirdest and worst jokes imaginable. I’d been making such progress recently in my attitude, my career and realizing my dreams that it just stood me on my head for a while. “Why me!?†I would cry out, and “Why now!?â€
Well, I know now there may never be any answers to those particular questions, but maybe in telling a little about myself, we can find some other answers to other questions. That might help our way down our own particular paths, towards realizing my dream of New Hope and New Happiness.
Amen
I left in love, in laughter, and in truth and wherever truth, love and laughter abide, I am there in spirit.
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With American comedian Bill Hicks there was always an awareness of other people, of how our society links together. With this came an idealism and a vision of what the world could be. But first he had to slay all the "fevered egos" polluting the planet. He saw himself as a flame, Shiva The Destroyer, using comedy as a weapon to expose truths and show people how governments are screwing us every day of our lives. He also happened to be achingly funny such was the accuracy of his comedy. At the age of 13 Bill Hicks did his first gig. Six weeks before his death, aged 32, he did the last. In the intervening years he frequently did over 250 gigs a year. He tried to reach as many people as possible, to put them in touch with inner and outer space in a majestic flight of one consciousness thinking. Those he inspired haven't lost the ability to take a ride.
People use and misuse the word "tragedy" all the time. It seems to accompany the death of anybody famous. But the real definition of tragedy evokes a sense of loss and poignancy, a sense of someone dying before they really gave everything they had to offer. Without hyperbole, Bill Hicks' death was a tragedy, for there was so much still to come from this creative, imaginative talent. When he died in 1994 the world lost a rare talent, but his spirit and philosophy still live on.
"As long as one person lives in darkness then it seems to be a responsibility to tell other people." This encapsulated Hicks' philosophy; that we are all one consciousness, that it is the role of every individual to do something to enhance the human condition. Unlike those we place our trust in - politicians and all manner of professionals - Bill wanted to have a lot of fun doing it.
William Melvin Hicks was born on December 16th 1961 in Valdosta, Georgia. The family (father Jim, an executive at General Motors; mother Mary, a teacher; and elder brother and sister, Steve and Lynn) lived in Florida, Alabama and New Jersey before moving to Houston when Bill was 7.They lived in the Memorial area to the west of the city, a place called Nottingham Forest, a "strict Southern Baptist ozone", as Hicks later called it. There, with friend Dwight Slade (both aged 12),Hicks formed a comedy double act. Bill was bored with the area and mystified by the appeal of living the so-called "American Dream". "One time a friend of mine - we were nine - runs over and goes 'Bill,I just saw some hippies down at the store.' I go 'No way' and he goes 'I swear' and my dad goes 'Get off this property! We don't swear on this property!'"
When he was young Bill Hicks wanted to be Woody Allen, buying his records and stealing his jokes. At his first stand up gig, a church camp talent show in Houston, Bill did Allen's joke about breastfeeding by a woman with falsies. "People laughed, then looked at me like I was the antichrist." It was an early indication that Bill Hicks had no time for a didactic morality.
In 1984 Hicks got his first Letterman appearance, Jay Leno having engineered the appearance, aware that Bill was too controversial for the more traditional Tonight Show. Hicks did a five-minute slot, then slumped down in the guest chair and lit a cigarette. This wasn't allowed on the show, but the attitude won admiration and further bookings. He went on to do eleven further broadcast shows, hugely popular despite the fact that his routine was somewhat watered down from his stage shows. Letterman later said of him: "What I liked about Bill was, here is a guy that nobody knew, myself included, who had a swagger to his demeanor, both physical and emotional. And I just liked that. For no good reason, no justifiable reason, 'I'm cocky. Nobody knows me. Too bad.' You could almost see him turning his shoulder to the audience."
It was on Letterman that Hicks did his Elmer Dinkley character, a southern caricature frequently requested at subsequent shows. In many ways a throwback to the characters he'd developed in his bedroom, character voices was another part of his comedic range, something he played on throughout his career, though the full range is perhaps best viewed in the low budget cult film, 'Ninja Bachelor Party'.
Hicks found himself broke in January 1986 having spent all his money on a variety of substances. In 1987 Rodney Dangerfield was given a tape of one of Hicks' shows. He was so impressed he invited him to appear on 'Dangerfield's Young Comedians Special'. Hicks moved to New York in 1987, playing clubs like Catch a Rising Star and touring with the likes of Melba Moore and Ray Charles, his reputation continuing to grow, critically if not in terms of audience size. For the next five years he did about 300 gigs a year. Hicks was at ease with his audience, enthralling them as he opened their minds. "He's the comic other comics go to see," said Sandy Marcus, manager of Houston's Laff Stop. Yet he was still playing small venues, his so-called "Flying Saucer" tours "...I too will be appearing in small Southern towns." Hicks, the confrontational comic, true to his beliefs, wasn't interested in furthering his career by having his own talk show. He was an original comic whose routines and stage presence were not manufactured to land him in a big time sit-com or movie. For him television was "Lucifer's dream box" and he could see The Simpsons as the only show with anything to offer him.
With drink and drugs came some wild routines in which Bill tapped into his dark little poet persona, indulging his dark, angry ideas. Some bad shows got him a bad rep at some venues, prompting him to question his reliance on substances.
In 1988, realizing he was surrounded by people offering him drugs all the time, he quit. He now took up smoking with a passion: the worst drug, the most addictive: "I'm a heavy smoker. I go through two lighters a day." With this new sobriety he could look back on his experiences objectively, but unlike so many stars he didn't rail on about the hell of drug addiction, instead using his awareness to enlighten. "I've had some killer times on drugs" he would say, promoting their legalization. One of his most inspired routines picked out the irony of the U.S. government losing the so-called 'War On Drugs'. He went on to rail against news coverage which always focused on bad drugs stories, Hicks instead hoping for a different perspective: "Today a young man on acid realized that all matter is merely energy condensed to a slow vibration, that we are all one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively, there is no such thing as death, life is only a dream, and we are the imagination of ourselves. Here's Tom with the weather." Within that little gem he had connected with us, taken us on a ride there, using words economically to help us imagine a picture in our heads. It lasts a lifetime; each pocket of one consciousness he opens.
Post-drugs was the beginning of the most productive period of Hicks' career. He knew his comedy, his words, had power: "Listen, the next revolution is gonna be a revolution of ideas. A bloodless revolution. And if I can take part in it by transforming my own consciousness, then someone else's, I'm happy to do it."
Opening with grainy footage of Hicks shuttling between venues, his voice over wearily says "God help me. I'm so tired. I need my sleep. I make no bones about it. I need eight hours a day, and at least ten at night..." It perfectly captures a hard working, relentlessly gigging Hicks about to unleash his most explosive comic moments to date. He enters the stage (dressed in black against a dark background) to Bob Dylan's 'Subterranean Homesick Blues', playfully and confidently strumming along. Through his waffle house routine he begins poking fun at his own Southern background. He talks of road signs which say "speed limit enforced by aircraft", able to see the absurdity of life; a thread which ran throughout his career, perhaps a driving force: Humans take life too seriously and invest too much time being concerned with unimportant things. He prowls the stage, thinking on his feet, reciting lines from the Dylan song. When introducing the topic of smoking he seems to be whipping up the crowd to mock smokers, like some P.C. comic as he talks about coughing up a "phlegm". He questions how many non-smokers there are in the audience, getting them to cheer, before altering perceptions with "What a bunch of whining maggots," nonchalantly pulling out a cigarette.
Hicks' persona was now more clearly defined, the "dark little poet", entering the stage through smoke to blaring rock music: Hendrix's Purple Haze or Voodoo Chile, sometimes The Beatles Tomorrow Never Knows. "Music is a great energizer. It's a language everybody knows," Hicks said, in keeping with his philosophy of a universal coming together.
Music was important to Hicks, an interest that could take him from Bob Dylan to Beethoven to Lyle Lovett. In his act he castigated manufactured pop stars - Debbie Gibson, George Michael, MC Hammer - as "ball-less, soul-less suckers of Satan's cock" He thought "we live in a backwards universe" where John Lennon is shot yet Barry Manilow continues to make records." Hicks' fiery rant against corporate musicians on the 'Relentless' video is one of the darkest and most passionate routines he ever did.
Many current bands have made dedications to Bill Hicks on their records: Radiohead's The Bends, Super Furry Animals' Fuzzy Logic, Tool's Aenima as well as The Bluetones, Pitchshifter and Rage Against The Machine.
Hicks' first introduction to Britain came in November 1990 when he was one of eighteen comedians in 'Stand Up America!', a six week engagement in London's West End. His perceptiveness and sense of irony went down well in the U.K. and in 1991 he won the Critics' Award at the Edinburgh Festival. He toured Britain and Ireland extensively to sympathetic and responsive audiences. Explaining his success Hicks said, "People in the United Kingdom and outside the United States share my bemusement with the United States that America doesn't share with itself. They also have a sense of irony, which America doesn't have seeing as it's being run by fundamentalists who take things literally."
In 1992 Hicks recorded the 'Marblehead Johnson' music album as well as doing another tour of England ending in an appearance at the Queen's Theatre in May. He also met Colleen McGarr, who was to become his manager through Strauss/McGarr Entertainment. They fell in love, something which seemed to mark the beginning of Hicks' most accomplished material and performances.
But in April 1993, whilst touring Australia, Hicks was eating badly, feeling sharp pains down his left side. Still, in May he began work on 'Counts Of The Netherworld' for Channel 4 in England, a show with Kansas City comedian Fallon Woodland. In it they would play two Victorian-era counts who chat and philosophize with guests.
In mid-June though Bill Hicks learned he had cancer. He only told his family, close friends and Colleen McGarr (now his fianc..e), and after only a few days in hospital he left to do a gig. Hicks worked fast with producer Kevin Booth, all guns blazing in the angriest of shows, recording two albums worth of material. 'Arizona Bay', an album with his and Booth's musical score was what Hicks described as his "comedic Dark Side Of The Moon", an all-encompassing view of America as a microcosm of the world.
He was also writing constantly; books, screenplays, newspaper articles (he'd already had a column for British humour magazine Scallywag and had recently been offered a column in the American periodical The Nation). At the same time, his confrontational gigs were making a huge impact. More people were waking up to Hicks' uncompromising brilliance: "I get a kick out of being an outsider constantly. It allows me to be creative. I don't like anything in the mainstream and they don't like me" he told The Chicago Sun Times on June 25th. The reviews for his scathing shows were excellent; "Hicks may be the freshest - surely most daring - voice in stand-up in years... Midway through his act, I realized just how banal and predictable comedy has grown," wrote The San Francisco Chronicle on August 8th.
Weekly chemotherapy - with Hicks still touring the country - brought some hope, and at one time the tumors decreased in size. Dr William T. Donovan of The Good Samaritan Cancer Institution had nothing but admiration for the way Bill handled his illness; when first told he had the disease, "...it was as if somebody had shot him, because he was a bright person and he knew what cancer of the pancreas meant," said Donovan. But through the weeks there was never any anger about his condition: "He was just a very gentle person," added Donovan.
October 1st 1993 saw Hicks' 12th and final Letterman show, from which his routine was axed as it was felt the material might not go down well with the show's sponsors. His act had attacked pro-lifers: "If you're so pro-life, do me a favour: don't lock arms and block medical clinics. If you're so pro-life, lock arms and block cemeteries." He became the first comedy act to be censored at CBS's Ed Sullivan Theatre. Hick was so incensed he wrote a 39 page letter to The New Yorker's John Lahr. It all became clear that the corporation was behind the censorship when a pro-life commercial appeared during the Letterman Show.
By December Hicks' deterioration was evident and he knew he was dying, moving back to his parents' house in Little Rock in January 1994. On January 6th, his health clearly ailing, he played his final show in New York.
In his final weeks he played his mother music by John Hiatt, Miles Davis and Elvis Presley, showed her documentaries on Jimi Hendrix and The Beatles. He read 'Huckleberry Finn' again, tried to get his father to take mushrooms. He worked on a book, variously titled 'New Happiness' or 'New Beginnings'. There was a sense of optimism, engendered by Bill's belief in a one-consciousness universe. According to Colleen McGarr, "He was getting a lot more light-hearted, because he felt really good. "He was at peace with himself and the world, able to face death because he knew there was a god, not tied to any religion, just some very creative being out there. He realized that life was too goddamn weird for there not to be anyone out there, perhaps a "prankster god". He looked forward with hope, readied himself for the next life, calling his friends to say goodbye before ceasing to speak on February 14th.
At 11.20pm on Saturday 26th February he died in Little Rock, Arkansas, buried in the family plot in Leakesville, Mississippi. At the memorial service Hicks' brother read out a piece Bill had written and requested be read: "I left in love, in laughter, and in truth, and wherever truth, love and laughter abide, I am there in spirit."
Bill's spirit then floated up into the cosmic one consciousness where he continues to enjoy the ride throughout eternity and infinity.
There is a positivity around Hicks' legacy (for all the misanthropy he was essentially an idealist) which means his material stands up to repeat play. His themes continue to have relevance, but his great skill was always to make them searingly funny. He was fearless and there are few contemporaries to match the body of work he left behind. Now that he's jamming with Jimi Hendrix and partying with Yul Brynner and Sam Kinison in the afterlife, Earth continues to make the same fuck ups as before. But hey, it's just a ride.
