Suicide Machines "No Face"

Ballot Question #2 in Massachusetts is a version of what some States have tackled as "assisted suicide."  The proposed bill in Massachusetts is not an "assisted" bill, per se.  It would allow a "physician licensed in Massachusetts to prescribe medication, at the request of a terminally-ill patient meeting certain conditions, to end that person’s life."

Heavy stuff.

It's pretty amazing that this Question has arrived on the ballot rather quietly.  Given the strong feelings the subject matter provokes, you'd think that there would be a lot more talk about it.  But its under the radar enough that I know some of my friends weren't aware that this was something they were going to have to consider in (or before) the voting booth.  Or maybe they are aware of it, but they just don't want to talk about such a dark, loaded, emotionally charged subject.

My awareness of people's sensitive, passionate and emotional responses to the topic comes, in part, from a t-shirt.

There was a mini Ska-music revival in the mid-90s, and I became hooked on this band, The Suicide Machines.  From Detroit, I assume they took their name due to fellow Michiganite, Jack Kevorkian.

How psyched was I, that the record label person in appreciation of my radio support of the band, sent me a band t-shirt?

A simple navy tee, it had the band's name and logo on the front, and the album name, "Destruction By Definition" on the back.

Amazingly, I still have this t-shirt and it's still in pretty good shape even though it is well over 15 years old.

Why is it in good shape?  Because I only wear it occasionally.

I felt like, geez, you just never know when you're going to be somewhere where the words "Suicide Machines" emblazoned across your chest is inappropriate.

As far as fashion and clothing goes, I've always subscribed to something I read about Jackie Kennedy.  Her theory on clothing was that after you left a party, you wanted people to say you looked great, without them exactly remembering what you were wearing.

Now I'm no Jackie O and I've never worn a Chanel suit or a pill box hat.  But I do tend to wear things that are nice but plain, that effect a persona, but are not the focal point of that persona.

I'm definitely not the type of guy who wears a shirt that says, in effect, "Hey look at me.  I'm confrontational!"

So mostly, I've used my Suicide Machines tee as an undershirt, where a collared shirt can hide the logo.

But every time I put on this shirt, or listen to the band, I think of this one time . . .

It was when I was living in Virginia.  There was certainly a large population of social conservatives there, who would frown upon a shirt like the one I had.  Literally.  Some people were not shy about staring at you disapprovingly for something as simple as a t-shirt.

I was out with my friends at an arts and crafts and music festival in town.  The early part of the day had been cool, but the sun had come out, so I decided to take off my sweatshirt.

I had completely forgotten that I had the Suicide Machines tee on.  And as I was walking with my friends, trying to decide if I should but the sweatshirt back on, I could see this elderly woman staring at my chest.

She started toward me.

I suppose I could have thrown the sweatshirt back on, but I was kind of frozen in place, wondering how I was going to counter whatever argument she was about to throw on me.

She stepped right up to me, squinting at my chest to make sure she was reading correctly, right up until she was upon me.

She grabbed my arm and looked me in the eye.

"I love your shirt," she smiled.

And she gave me a thumbs up.

Then she walked off.

I suppose she'd be voting Yes, on Question #2.


For details on Ballot Question #2, and the Massachusetts Ballot in general, the State has a really great website.



Hear the song on Youtube.

Vic Chesnutt “Flirted With You All My Life”

Of the many musical passings that I’ve heard about over the years, for one reason or another, the ones that have struck me the most have been the ones I heard on the radio in the car.

Certainly, since about a third of my life is spent inside the walls of a radio station, my memories of getting the news of this person or that person dying, are closely tied to radio.

But the couple I really remember, have been in the car.

I was with my Mom and my sister Julie, coming home from Logan Airport after a trip to Disney World, when I learned about Stevie Ray Vaughn’s death. Hearing his music that day was really the beginning of my understanding of how important his guitar playing was.

I got the news of Bob Stinson death (who was the guitarist for my favorite band, the Replacements), as I was pulling away from the radio station that I worked at in Virginia, at midnight, just after my shift. I actually ran back inside from the parking lot, to confirm what I had heard on the ABC Newsbrief.

Is it something about the safety, the womb-ness of a car that makes radio news so indelible? I’m not sure. I just seems to be, for me.

This past weekend, on the radio, I got the news about Vic Chesnutt.

I was down in Newport, spending a couple of post-Holiday days with family, and I had been dispatched to the grocery store, to make sure we had breakfast food for the following morning. After several days of caroling to and fro, visiting all our relatives, engulfed in the madness of the season, this was the first moment of peace I’d had in a while. I was in the car, by myself, alone on the wet streets of Newport, in the post-Christmas quiet.

I was flipping the dial as I drove. I like to check out the local public radio stations whenever I’m on the road.

“We’re starting out the show with some sad news,” the announcer said.

They didn’t have a lot of information, only that he had been in a coma for a short time, and had died, due to an overdose. Intentional or not? They weren’t sure.

I wrote a little about Vic in an earlier post. Knowing that he had struggled with depression his whole life, I guess it’s not a shock that he left us this way.

But despite his physical and mental troubles, he was incredibly prolific. He’d put out two records just this Fall.

And strangely, one of those records had a song called “Flirted With You All My Life,” which he had called his break-up song with suicide. He sang like he was ready to start living.

There are many tributes and obits out there worth reading, if you’re not familiar with the man, his songs or his story, but this one has a wonderful Vic quote. And Vic Chesnutt was a highly quotable man. Check out his lyrics, but I’m glad he left me with this thought about his career, which I think can apply to all of us who live a creative life:

“I thought I had a calling. Anyway I just kept dialing.”



See him perform the song in concert, here