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Apr. 7th, 2004 06:22 amIt's the sixth anniversary of Wendy O. William's death. I recall having a feeling of disillusionment when I heard about it. She had this image of being the Perfect Savage. I could see her jumping off the top of a skyscraper in some drug-fueled mania, or crashing a motorcycle at 150mph, or even killing herself on stage. Quietly putting a gun in her mouth at home seemed such a surrender to circumstance, though. It just wasn't the way I'd pictured her dying. I'd expected her to go out giving the finger to the world.
The first time I ever saw the Plasmatics perform she was staggering back and forth across the stage, too drunk and stoned to actually sing in any coherent fashion. Near the end of the set she reached behind a speaker, produced a pump shotgun, and began waving it about while laughing like a maniac. Substantial portions of the audience hit the floor immediately. I knew right then I was seeing the real, authentic thing. If that'd been Mick Jagger with a gun, people would have been standing up baring their breasts for targets, knowing at was all part of the show. With Wendy, they didn't take chances.
She pointed the gun at an oversized speaker on the edge of the stage, and let off a round. The speaker blew apart in a flurry of coloured pyrotechnics and foamboard. You could just feel the relief. It was all put-on after all. Then she started swearing at the audience, racked the gun, turned, and fired another round at a small monitor speaker by the drumstand. That one just flew backwards like it'd been kicked. No fireworks or anything. The drummer was petrified - you could see it plainly. He froze like a deer, afraid to be there, but afraid to move before his tormentor did. Then the song and set ended, and Wendy threw the gun away and staggered offstage. She was laughing as she left, looking actually happy instead of insane for once. Was she happy that she'd scared everyone? Was she happy that she'd resisted the urge to shoot someone? I have no idea. I don't know that I'd have understood if she told me.
I'm sorry she's dead, and I'm sorry she died like that. I want people like that to be in the world, even if I don't want them very close to me. I'm really sorry for myself, and my loss of illusion, more than I am for her. I wouldn't want to be like Wendy O. Williams. I probably wouldn't like her much if I met her. She seemed larger than life, though, in the same way that the old Greek heroes were, like some demi-goddess of Chaos. In the end, the image of a demi-god is probably just a bit much for a mortal to maintain. I'm guessing that's what killed her.
The first time I ever saw the Plasmatics perform she was staggering back and forth across the stage, too drunk and stoned to actually sing in any coherent fashion. Near the end of the set she reached behind a speaker, produced a pump shotgun, and began waving it about while laughing like a maniac. Substantial portions of the audience hit the floor immediately. I knew right then I was seeing the real, authentic thing. If that'd been Mick Jagger with a gun, people would have been standing up baring their breasts for targets, knowing at was all part of the show. With Wendy, they didn't take chances.
She pointed the gun at an oversized speaker on the edge of the stage, and let off a round. The speaker blew apart in a flurry of coloured pyrotechnics and foamboard. You could just feel the relief. It was all put-on after all. Then she started swearing at the audience, racked the gun, turned, and fired another round at a small monitor speaker by the drumstand. That one just flew backwards like it'd been kicked. No fireworks or anything. The drummer was petrified - you could see it plainly. He froze like a deer, afraid to be there, but afraid to move before his tormentor did. Then the song and set ended, and Wendy threw the gun away and staggered offstage. She was laughing as she left, looking actually happy instead of insane for once. Was she happy that she'd scared everyone? Was she happy that she'd resisted the urge to shoot someone? I have no idea. I don't know that I'd have understood if she told me.
I'm sorry she's dead, and I'm sorry she died like that. I want people like that to be in the world, even if I don't want them very close to me. I'm really sorry for myself, and my loss of illusion, more than I am for her. I wouldn't want to be like Wendy O. Williams. I probably wouldn't like her much if I met her. She seemed larger than life, though, in the same way that the old Greek heroes were, like some demi-goddess of Chaos. In the end, the image of a demi-god is probably just a bit much for a mortal to maintain. I'm guessing that's what killed her.
