I saw Wesley Willis last night.

Inspired by help im a rock's daylog from May 10, 2001, I decided to leave my solitary comforts and venture out into the Big Blue Room for a change. Wesley Willis was in town at the Cowhaus (www.cowhaus.com), a former cigar factory on Saint Francis Street in Tallahassee, Florida that now operates as a live music venue. Showtime was posted as 9:00PM, so I was there about 9:15, knowing full well that I was showing up ridiculously early.

But what I witnessed in those pre-show moments was worth it. Wesley sat beside the stage at the merchandise counter for most of the time prior to his show. Fans would trickle in and crowd around him, getting their head-butts and autographs, shelling out their allowance money for merchandise, and having a ball. I sat at the back of the club next to the bar for a while, drinking shitty $1 Natural Light drafts and taking it all in.

The first opening act came up, calling themselves "Strip Club Moms", from Ft. Myers, Florida. They sucked. After about 25 minutes of squeaking and wailing, they were done, and I decided to walk over to where Wesley was sitting and see for myself what my old friend Jello Biafra found so amazing about this guy.

From across the room I could see that Wesley had a whopper of a knot on his forehead. It was as big as a plum, and as I studied it from a distance, it began to resemble a third eye. I thought this was rather prophetic, and I considered for a while that this was no accident; Wesley's pecular habit of greeting people by head-butting them was his way of looking into the soul of the individual he was greeting, seeing them on a level that quantify's the Hindu third eye in some way that even he probably didn't understand. Of course, the third eye is for looking inward, so that blows my half-baked theory.

As I stepped up to the counter and observed the college kids saying hello to the star of the hour, he picked me out of the crowd and said "Come head-butt me!" So I obliged him, and went through his ritual of "Say rawk!" "Say rowl!" (head-butt) (repeat). He did this to me many more times than he did to the others that came before me, and I began to wonder if he thought I was special in some way. Of course I had no fear of him, and I earnestly replied to his prompts with enthustiatic shouts of "Rawk!!" "Rowl!!!" and so on, which he seemed to enjoy. After this, he encouraged me to buy one of his CDs for US$12.00, and I stood there admiring the disc he placed in my hand, and shook his hand several times as he made his sales pitch (such as it was). But there were others to greet, more sales to make, and I kindly stepped aside to let them through.

The next band up was a duo called "The Rock Coaches". They consisted of a keyboard and drums, and they were horrible. After they were done polluting the air with their squawking noise, another band came up called "The Country Teasers". These guys were actually pretty good. Most of them were from London, with the exception of the bass player who was from Seattle. The lead singer was a dead ringer for William S. Burroughs circa 1930, complete with gray suit and porkpie hat. The guitar player looked like a barefoot refugee from The Black Crowes, and the others were fairly nondescript.

I ended up talking at length with the bass player after their show. I had overheard them earlier talking about their upcoming gig in Memphis, so I made sure to mention the Rendezvous as a good place to eat when they got to town. (Meanwhile, the lead singer had passed out on the floor in the corner of the club, apparently affected by the straight Jack Daniels he had been drinking on stage.) The bass player said their band had toured with Wesley once before, and they helped out with looking after him. While Wesley was sitting there, I thought I would inquire about the info in help im a rock's daylog. "Where did you play ten days ago? On the 9th," I asked. Wesley was unsure, and the other band members began to think back. "There was a band that played called 'The Black Lips', and the dude played the guitar with his dick," I said. Wesley looked me straight in the eye and said "Ashville, North Carolina!" He then began to exclaim, "The guy played the guitar with his dick?! That's fucked up!" and so on, and I replied "Well, you were there!" One of the roadies reminded me of how this band had set their equipment on fire. All the fans lined up at the merchandise counter had a good laugh at that, and then it was time for Wesley to go on stage.

His set went exactly as I have read it described in writeups here on Everything2. Afterwards, he was upset about some jerks in the audience and the remarks they had made. "I don't need to take this shit!" he exclaimed, pounding his hand on the counter. His touring bandmates consoled him as they would a child, and I did my best to help out. We got Wesley to cheer up a bit, and he had some more soy milk and a banana. I gave Wesley a hug, thanked him for coming to Tallahassee, and wished him well on his next stop in Nawlins, bidding the other guys best wishes for the rest of their tour.

Then I came home and wrote this. I couldn't post it until now because I needed sleep and couldn't battle through the lag. Rock over London, Rock on Chicago!

Yeah, this used to be a daylog. If that matters to ya.

1963 — 2003
The torture hell ride is over


Farewell Wesley, and Godspeed.