458 love life
Scott Alcoholocaust is dead, and part of my youth died with him. I found out last year he had prostate cancer. Pictures of him taken last year feature a cane, and thin. Having had my own prostate issues, I know he was in pain.
I've met him, but I mainly know him from going to shows and from my buddy Fozzy, who drew his flyers for years. Scott was a force in modern American music. Not just the SF punk scene... He was bigger than that.
Over 25 years of promoting shows, three bands on a bill, little clubs (CW Saloon, El Rio, Thee Parkside, The Knockout) and paying everyone their forty or fifty bucks in cash, he put on 4,000 shows on the city. 4,000!!! If you're in a punk band and you've ever been through SF, you probably got booked by Scott. Then slept at his place.
Last year, a GoFundMe set up to make life a little easier while he died of cancer netted $140k. If you know anything about the sympathy medical money world, that is a lot of love.
Hopefully some young person out there is hearing an angelic voice in their head saying, "of course you can make a career out of organizing chaos."
This led me down a little bit of a nostalgia rabbit hole.
Where I learned that Storm, previously of Storm and Her Dirty Mouth, previously of FlowerSF, just made an appearance on one of those big talent shows.
Where I learned she's a year older than me. FlowerSF was one of the first bands I remember seeing in the city. Storm was hot as hell, and frequently took off a lot of clothes, but that's not why I saw them. My roommate actually worked with one of the guitarists, a guy named Oobie Doobie. This is his birth name. His parents were hippies. His dad came to all the shows and danced like a madman.
I remember seeing him around town here and there for years. And then I didn't. Time moved along. And he was gone. Things change. People come and go. Life moves on.
And then pops up again on TV.
Love life, it's all we've got.
Also, rebirth!
And if you know me well, you night understand why I took this as an omen about the musical.
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