Michael had just moved back to Arizona after a few months visit back to LA this summer. I saw him several times out here, and on one occasion met his son Story, and visited with them both for awhile. His death is a great tragedy for the people he's left behind, that's for sure. I can hardly believe the news, yet I know it's true. My prayers are with you, and your family, Mike. You'll be missed.

He was like a brother to me, with all that can entail.

See you later, man.

My gods, Pete. That is so fucking horrible.

What a great and cool guy. What happened?

He was a friend to me also.

I didn't see this coming, even after speaking with him on the phone a few months ago. He seemed to be rejuvenated and optimistic about things. He was concerned about Pete's health, and had some irons in the fire regarding gigging. For Michael, that is saying something! He was a great cat, it was funny to see him and Peter bicker like brothers sometimes. Oh wait, Mr. Case and I do that also!!

Rest well, Michael. You were loved, wether you knew it or not...

I Love You, Peter.

I feel for you and your long lost buddy.

This really messes me up.

Eddie

bannister is best known to us on the blog for his spirited contributions about the rolling stones ... i am personally indebted to him for turning me on to john trudell ...

many here also have heard you sing with affection your humorous 'ballad of michael bannister' ... did you ever get to play it for him? ... 'here he comes, there he goes'

i remember seeing him behind the kit at your 1989 lonestar roadhouse gig ... he told some amusing stories about that show ...

anyway, this is very sad news ... hang in there, friend

--DA

The one time I got to talk to him at length was at The Cotton Club in Atl during the Blue Guitar tour-nice, generous guy.

A real shame is all I can say.

Sever Clinical Depression can’t be ignored. I only knew Michael through this blog, yet his passing touches me because of its nature and because of what he meant to everyone here…so sorry Peter, so sorry to everyone who knew him

Very sorry to hear. My condolences to all who knew him.

Depression is a terrible killer.

Mr. Conrad just called to tell me. Gurf didn't answer, so I thought that I'd search the web...looks like it's true.

As you know, Michael and I have known each other since we met in Austin in the '70s. Many times over the years, he would say that he was going to end it...but then it would be another day. We spoke a few times since he'd gone to LA. We even laughed about the fact that he ran his bike into a car. I'd given him leads for gigs ($$$) and he seemed OK. I'm saddened and angered.

Phillip

Peace be with you, Peter and with Mike's family and friends.

art

He had a very nice place to get re-established in LA, unfortunately the gigs did'nt come in and he became disenchanted.

He decided to leave here, He felt bad about not being able to pay his way.

We'd just started to recording music together and now that talent has been lost to all of us.

He went back to AZ to be with someone he cared about.

After that he took the easy way out, for him!

I would'nt classify Mike as a "severe depressive", granted his views were not always positive but he was very spiritual and had a great sense of dry humor. He did have a tendency to blow things out of proportion.

And that's what he did!

His decision was rash and selfish, it will effect his son's life for the rest of his life and leave everyone else with no sense of resolve.

He told me before he left that, "he felt like he had nothing left to offer", he should have thought about Story and not the LA music community.

We all go through hard times but trust me this is not the way to not deal with it.

It places a huge burden on those who loved him the most, way to go Mike!

I apologise to those who may take offense to my attitude but I'm deeply saddened and angry at Mikes decision to throw in the towel.

It's the ones left behind who suffer

Andra

From the sound of it he left a lot of people behind who cared. This kind of thing seems way too final, like they say, 'a permanent solution to a temporary problem.'

Anything could of happened, but now a whole world closes down. It's very sad. This is really teaching me that it's something I never want to do. As long as you're alive you can always turn it around one more time.

Oh man, bum kicks... a lot of people are missing him.

Here's the details... Date: Dec 9 2008 Time: 8:00 PM Location: Austin, Texas. Venue: Cactus Cafe. Univ. of Texas/Union Hall

Peter Case will be performing that night.

And, there will be many people from Austin and points unknown in attendance.

Maybe we can perform "Dancing My Life Away".

With Love,

Phillip

Been out of touch. just heard the news. I am saddened as everyone is. Didn't know the man, but if you loved him, I do too. Touchy and reality filled emotions run thru this blog today. Let us soon begin to celebrate his life...and what he did while he lived it.

Peace...Pass the word...Mineni

art

I'll be adding some of Mikes segments shortly

Mike and I recorded a tune a few weeks ago this was Mikes last recording and considering the circumstances it's quite an appropriate ending to his career.

if you want to hear it go here

http://www.myspace.com/drbannister

I'll be adding video and some of his poetry over the next few days, if your a friend leave comments so other friends can get in contact.

Mike lived with me in LA before this tragedy happened and this is the way I'm spending my Thanksgiving, dedicating it to him.

What a bummer Peace Andra

Andra lovekrafty@earthlink.net

I'm putting a Dr. Bannister Myspace page together add to it, please

I'm in your area, please contact me

Condolences to all that Mike touched,

Jerry

John Duffett and I wrote the 'Ballad Of Michael' in 1969. I still play the song at my shows now and again.

'he went that wa y in a truck/ and he didn't give a fuck/ if he got to Woodstock or not/ he's gonna make the scene/ where the cops are mean/ and I hope that he doesn't get shot.

He got caught swimmin' nude/ the cops thought it was kind of crude/ so the canned him for a week or two/ he was sittin' in his cell/ in his own private hell/ when he was rescued by the ACLU

Here he comes!/ There he goes!/ Here he comes!/ There he goes!'

Bannister and I went to The Governors Inn, in Buffalo, a blues bar on the East side, to hear live blues, this was 1969, I think. We went and heard a lot of other gigs, I can't even remember them all now. It was a great time for music.

Our paths parted for awhile, in the early '70's when Bannister and Morlix headed South with their band, setting up shop in Key West, Florida, while I lived and wandered, busking on the West Coast.

We met up again in 1979, in LA. Mike had been in Texas and performed with many blues bands and r&b groups in the Austin area. He became a very adept professional blues and country drummer during this period.

He moved back to Buffalo and started another band there with singer-songwriter-bassist-guitarist Jim Whitford, a dynamic rock and roll and power pop out fit called the Desires, who quickly became very popular in the Western New York area.

In 1984 I went through Buffalo on my way to New York, and on my way home, hooked up with Bannister. On the night of my thirtieth birthday Mike and I (and another friend) drove from Buffalo to Austin. Many adventures ensued, Mike moved in with me in LA, and the joke was: he lived on my couch for so long, you could see his outline on it, like the shroud of Turin. Bannister was the kind of guy that could leave the house, wander the world aimlessly, and come back 16 hours later, having hung with Keith Richards, or Jerry Lee Lewis, or Demi Moore. (true stories.)

I wrote the song 'Old Blue Car' about the nights cruising with him in '84.

During this time he introduced me to Victoria Williams, and introduced Gurf and I to Lucinda Williams. He played with a lot of different band, and he was a frequent jammer over at my house, helping me make demos for what became my first solo album. He eventually got his own pad in Venice, on Horizen, and that was his base for many years.

The night of my last drunk I was watching Bannister and Denny Croy back up a blues singer named David McKenzie. I woke up the next morning terribly sick and hungover, for the millionth and final time.

The Blue Guitar tour of 1989 was a major adventure with MJB. With Duke McVinnie on bass, and Phast Phreddie as road manager we toured the US, and played festivals in the UK and Canada. The group was amazing inn its ability to improvise material on stage. Howe Gelb from Giant Sand told me later that the Athens, Ga show that he saw us play was the best rock and roll show he's ever seen.

Duke went back at the end of the tour and Bannister and I continued on as a duo, at one point opening for John Lee Hooker in Detroit. WE worked our way back to LA, somehow.

At this point a lot of changes came down the pike for both of us. We each got married, and headed in separate directions. We did however have a band in 92 called the Drawing Blanks, which played a few gigs and recorded some demos for Geffen, but nothing much came of it. I hit the road as a solo, and Mike joinded Burning Sky in Az, and made three albums with them. This is just a thumbnail sketch of my times with Mike Bannister. I'll be thinking of him for a long time, probably until I die, of all the times inside and outside this outline, times where soul was shared, truth was told, and friends stood side by side watching as the deal went down. Maybe I'll be writing some more about all of this. He was a one of a kind, unique character, and I loved him. We hadn't been that close for a while, and at tmes I think we found each others friendship difficult. But I always thought we were friends, and that we would be close again. I thought maybe his return to LA was the opportunity. I came back from tour and found that he'd gone back to Arizona.

Sorry this is all so poorly written, I'm trying to get it down without getting hung up. The point is to capture some of the import of the way his life affected me. I'm just one guy, obviously there is a whole web of people who have been moved by having Bannister in their lives. It's pretty amazing. And he thought that he was a failure. I hope this goes to show us all, you never know!

I believe I'll see him again. Might be a while, and I'm sure we both have a lot to do first.

after some more days behind my belt

its still hard to believe that ol bannister

threw in the towel, hoisted the ol rag

i mean i always know its there for me

as a last resort. but i never acted on it

or never felt like game over..micheal made a

decision and didnt turn back. i can only imagine

what went on in his mind what actions he was

taking to prepare.. fucked up stuff..

...how can i turn this around ..i realy dont

believe in editing things ..micheal was a fun cat

if you all want to see michael at his happiest

you got to go to plasticmeltdown.com click on

micheal there is this video of him playing on the

boardwalk with jeff turbo..go go dancers

its really a keeper....and i want to thank

mr case for giving the opt to have this form to

unload and to give you my sympathys for the loss

of your friend....and to all!!/////greg berg

as a last resort. b

My response was cold. I was mad. Mainly because of Story. Also because of the rest of the people this will hurt, and for a long time. Some for the rest of their lives. I was also mad because this is the second suicide in the past fourteen months of someone I once dated. So, I am mad that I date people who do things like take their own lives. And, I was mad because Michael has not always been an easy person for me to know. He could be difficult at times, for me. But, this ….

I met Michael over twenty years ago, when he was playing drums on the Venice Boardwalk. He was wearing pretty much the same clothes, or the same kind of clothes, as in the recent pictures people have posted of him, and he was wearing the hat and sunglasses. We were smiling at each other when he was playing, and his smile was like sunshine. But, as I got to know him better, I experienced the other side of that smile too, which was not so much depressed as dissatisfied—with so many things, sometimes myself included.

We didn’t date long but became very close friends. (In fact, Peter, we went out as a group a few times: to Canter’s Deli and to see Willie Dixon at the Wiltern.)

As I was looking at the pictures and watching the videos people posted, memories of Michael became fresh again: particularly how intrigued he was by the spiritual realm, the outer margins.

Some vivid memories include Michael’s interest in the Harmonic Convergence, Sedona, wheat grass, conspiracy theories, John Trudell, Lucinda, Bukowski, Ferlinghetti, you (Peter, he really loved and admired you; talked about you more than you can probably imagine), Alfred Robinson, smudging, harebrained diets, colonics, crystals.... Tonight on my way home from work, I had a particularly disturbing memory of Michael: of him telling me that he had once tried to kill himself-by turning on his gas heater, without the pilot light, in the hope that he would be asphyxiated, but some kind of safety latch which was released.

I’m not mad at Michael right now. In fact, I'm sad. Michael was a loyal friend, a loving friend. Even his dissatisfaction with me ended once we took the romance out of our friendship, which was long ago. As his friend, I felt valued, treasured. When I went to study abroad for several months, Michael wrote to me frequently (I still have those letters, 20 years later). After both of us relocated (simultaneously, in fact), he to Jerome and I to the Bay Area, we stayed in touch. He was better at doing it than I. He would occasionally send me a card with pictures of his band and his family, some music, kind thoughts. We saw each other when he came into town.

After many years, we lost touch. I moved again. He moved again. I am unlisted. But, a few years ago, my phone rang. A very familiar voice, making me guess who, dropping hints. Michael had gone to great lengths to find me—from looking up my parents (who had also relocated) to scouring the internet. I can’t recall how he finally found me. We caught up. We laughed. He wasn't in a great place, though. He sent more cards and pictures, of Jerome, of himself, of Story. We emailed.

When he and Story came up last year (I think), Michael made several attempts to get together, but, for various reasons, it didn't happen. Michael was very disappointed and somewhat hurt, not only because we didn’t get to see each other but because he so very much wanted me to meet his son.

I hope I will be able to meet Story someday, that I may be one of Michael’s many friends who will be able to answer a question or two Story might have about his father, that I may be just one of many voices that will tell let him know again and again that he was loved, dearly loved, by his father.

I am going to end here with one of my favorite Michael Bannister anecdotes. One night, in Venice, after many hours of hearing Michael rant about, you know, politicians, egos, concrete, those kinds of things, we drifted off to sleep. In the middle of the night, I heard Michael laughing, his body jiggling under the sheets as if he were being tickled. I sat up and asked him what was funny. Michael said, still laughing, “Stephen just hit Jimmy in the stomach with a baseball bat.” Both of us fell back asleep, with smiles on our faces.

I feel you smiling now, Michael.

The very moving remarks here in what has become a virtual wake— bereft, startled, sad, and sometimes angry — are as unique as the vivid personality they mourn, and carry the charge of ambivalence that ... if we're honest ... attends every death, but none more than a suicide. Much wisdom in the comments, and groping for a sense of peace, hard to find and harder to hold. Hardest of all, perhaps, is to find a way to reconcile our warring feelings of resentment at what can seem an unforgivably selfish act with the understanding that to the one in the grips of anguished depression, it can become impossible to believe that the utter pain and despair one is in could ever pass, or to recognize that the sense that one is not worth anything is false.

I went to the myspace page and was profoundly moved by the power of the music he left behind just as the pain, for him, of being himself in this world became too much to bear. I couldn't help but be struck by two things — first, that like Mozart he left behind what could be taken as his own Requiem in the form of that beautiful instrumental, with its haunting eastern drone, and second, that near the end he also wrote a song — Just Go On — that seems to be his own message to himself, one that he ultimately could not heed, but that he left for anyone who might need sometime to hear it .. and that also reassures those who loved him that he had tried ... heroically, it seems to me ... to press on through his despair, until he simply could not do it any more.

It is not easy to try to understand the thought processes of someone in that degree of emotional extremis, and maybe too easy to call the act he committed selfish, but I will hazard to say that his decision to carry it out far from the horrified eyes of loved ones and friends who might discover his body was made with the intent to minimize, as best he could imagine how to do so, the pain he knew he would be inflicting.

Peter's exhortation to cherish life and to see it for the unexpected, unearned gift is the wisest message to take away from this, and equally the reminders from others how important it is to try to make sure our friends and those we love know how fiercely we love them, and would hold them fast for as long as it takes to keep them tethered to their lives when morbid impulses arise at times of what sees ... but only ever seems ... to be despair that will never lift.

I didn't know Michael Bannister except as a member of this community, and as a contributor to much of the music of pc's that I cherish most, but I feel a share of loss, and hope that all those who knew him best, and loved him, will know a peace that passes understanding.

Bannister was a good soul. I got to know him briefly when he moved to LA. He was my neighbor. My first encounter with him was when I handed him his keys to the place and we tried to fix his piece of shit computer fro like 3 hours and couldn't get the damn thing to connect to the internet. Finally I just let him piggyback off of my network.

He often talked about his son and Peter...and some stories about touring. It was pretty cool to find out that he was from Hamburg NY, near Buffalo. I used to know some guys back in the day form Hamburg who always had amazing pot back in college. I'm originally from the Syracuse area so it was nice to meet someone from back home.

This rat race called LA can mindfuck you quickly if you let it. I could see it was wearing on him. He was finding it hard to get gigs with reputable folks. But he always seemed to be hanging in there. I never took him for a guy who would hang 'em up early though.

One time this past summer we were hanging out and he was rolling one of his trademark cigarettes and he did say to me he was getting tired of the scene and that he didn't want to be a "grandfather rocker". But fuck man, why the hell did he have to do this?...

After a while, I saw him less and less and I got busier and busier. Today I came home from work and I was like, "where the fuck is Bannister?...I haven't seen that van in a month or so."

I gave Andra a call and he broke the news to me. I was floored. Couldn't believe it. I got home and just kind of sat there for a minute. I grabbed my iphone and typed in his name and suicide at the end of it because I wanted more information as to what happened. Andra was sick and working so I wasn't going to ask him 20 questions etc. Google gave me the nice little gift of showing me Peter's blog, right here.

I read and read everyone's comments. I couldn't put my phone down. Finally my wife came home and I couldn't wait to finish dinner and put my daughters to bed so I could read it all.

All I can say is it's a shame that Bannister is gone. It's obvious how deeply people cared about him and valued his friendship.

Every group of friends needs a Bannister. And it's sad how often people that outwardly smile and laugh the most hurt so badly inside. I never saw severe depression in Bannister. What I saw was a fighter, a man who could reinvent himself and adapt, a person who had seen a lot with his eyes and had lived life to the fullest and was still just running on the fumes of music because that's what he knew and loved.

Drummers are a unique breed of people. Sitting here writing about him, I am realizing that every drummer I've ever met in my life, I will never forget.

It saddens me to know that Bannister left without saying goodbye, to me and many of us who knew him.

I don't believe in the christian, jewish, hindu or muslim gods..or zeus or any other myths for that matter. I sometimes don't know what I believe. What if we humans aren't anything more than an aberration of time and space? I mean if the human genome is as complex as a small universe, could we not be living on a planet in a universe that is the equivalent of the cell of some being we cannot fathom with our small minds? If so were do we go when cease to exist? Well Mike knows the answer now. But he shouldn't know that just yet because it wasn't his time.

I don't know his son, but I know he loved him. He was proud of him. And he wanted him to be so much more than he ever was. I hope his son is in good hands. It's not fair to lose your dad that way and that's what pisses me off about Mike doing this. That kid. All he had to do was ask for help and any one of us would have given it to him. He didn't have to go out this way.

But we can talk about that until we're blue in the face and it won't change anything. The news of Bannister's passing has hit me good. Maybe because I'm a father myself and a fellow dreamer.

Regardless of our disdain for his actions let's all just keep remembering the gentle soul that was Bannister. His poofy hair, skinny legs walking around in his bare feet, rolling his ciggies and playing the drums.

I keep thinking of a line from the movie the Big Lebowski when Walter is spreading Donnie's ashes over the ocean and he says, "Good night, sweet prince."...Well goodnight Bannister, thanks for stopping by and saying hello.

“What you lost when you left this world, this sweet old world ... The breath from your own lips, the touch of fingertips ... The sound of a midnight train, wearing someone's ring / Someone calling your name ... Didn't you think you were worth anything See what you lost when you left this world, this sweet old world See what you lost when you left this world, this sweet old world ... ”

And second, also from Lucinda Williams, ‘Are You Alright?’ (links below to clips, and I'll post a separate comment after this one with all the lyrics to both):

“Are you all right? All of a sudden you went away Are you all right? I hope you come back around someday. Are you all right? I haven't seen you in a real long time. Are you all right? Could you give me some kind of sign? Are you all right? I looked around me and you were gone. Are you all right? I feel like there must be something wrong. Are you all right? Cause it seems like you disappeared. Are you all right? Cause I've been feeling a little scared. Are you all right?”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SBDEX_DKWaA

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T6SuBacPDvc

— Lucinda Williams

See what you lost when you left this world, this sweet old world See what you lost when you left this world, this sweet old world The breath from your own lips, the touch of fingertips A sweet and tender kiss The sound of a midnight train, wearing someone's ring Someone calling your name Somebody so warm cradled in your arm Didn't you think you were worth anything See what you lost when you left this world, this sweet old world See what you lost when you left this world, this sweet old world

SOLO

Millions of us in love, promises made good Your own flesh and blood Looking for some truth, dancing with no shoes The beat, the rhythm, the blues The pounding of your heart's drum together with another one Didn't you think anyone loved you See what you lost when you left this world, this sweet old world See what you lost when you left this world, this sweet old world See what you lost when you left this world, this sweet old world See what you lost when you left this world, this sweet old world

‘Are You Alright?’

— Lucinda Williams

Are you all right? All of a sudden you went away Are you all right? I hope you come back around someday. Are you all right? I haven't seen you in a real long time Are you all right? Could you give me some kind of sign? Are you all right? I looked around me and you were gone. Are you all right? I feel like there must be something wrong Are you all right? Cause it seems like you disappeared Are you all right? Cause I've been feeling a little scared Are you all right?

Are you sleeping through the night? Do you have someone to hold you tight? Do you have someone to hang out with? Do you have someone to hug & kiss you? Hug & kiss you Hug & kiss you Are you all right?

Are you all right? Is there something been bothering you? Are you all right? I wish you could give me a little clue Are you all right? Is there something you want to say? Are you all right? Just tell me that you're ok Are you all right? Cause you took off without a word Are you all right? You flew away like a little bird Are you all right? Is there anything I can do? Are you all right? Cause I need to hear from you Are you all right?

Are you sleeping through the night Do you have someone to hold you tight? Do you have someone to hang out with? Do you have someone to hug & kiss you? Hug & kiss you, Hug & kiss you,

Are you all right?

Are you all right?

Are you all right

just reporting some news...

He was a big The Neighborhood Bullys fan and so am I. I didn't even know he was a musician until he sat in with them on the drums at Cinema Bar one night; he was smiling the entire time he was behind Joey's kit. He had a spring in his step upon leaving the small stage.

The last time I saw him he must have been with his girlfriend Kathleen, it was at The Bullys show at The Echo on Oct. 22; watching the band play, he had his arm around her shoulders and he was again, smiling.

Ironically I run a staffing agency and he knew that I did. If he needed a gig he should have let me know. I could have gotten him an admin job to make ends meet. He could have even answered phones at our office...That's the part that drives me nuts.

Anyway, Kathleen I know you are hurting and looking for answers and reasons but I am pretty sure any one of us on here from LA would have given him as much help as we could. I can't speak for everyone but I'm pretty sure nobody here would have turned their back on this guy.

I have two children and two jobs and I did as much as could for him when he asked and helped him tremendously with his computer/phone/internet issues. But I could have done more if he simply asked. That's what burns my ass the most is that he didn't ask. I guess my point is that we aren't the people to make assumptions about. But on the other hand, I do feel bad because I could have done more had I known. The last couple of months I didn't even see him. I don't think I saw him since the end of September...Maybe I should have seen the signs?

I keep asking myself if I did enough... I don't know, but I guess blaming ourselves or others doesn't do anyone any good. We ultimately have to help ourselves in life. Obviously at some point he gave up and couldn't help himself any longer...and unfortunately no amount of help most of us could have given him would have made a difference.

I'm sorry to see him go out like this. It sucks. It sucks because there are too many unanswered questions. I think all of us who knew him personally ask ourselves if we did enough...and I bet everyone is saying the same thing I am...if he would have asked for help we would have given him as much as we could have.

Best wishes everyone and let's try and keep this thing positive in memory of him. It is more beneficial to remember the good things about people when they pass, than the bad and that's why this blog has been amazingly helpful in relieving our sadness.

Peace to all and may the force be with you.

and yes, hal, i am hurting. and i am sorry if it is uncomfortable to anyone that it is coming out into the open. if i hold it inside, i would be doing what michael did in the end, and i'm not like that. i DO want people to be more aware, myself included. i'm not too proud to ask for help. unfortunately, there are lots of people who want help but are too proud to ask. i've never loved anyone before this who committed suicide. so i'm not all that confident in handling my emotions. i'm trying to learn.

i had saved all the emails from michael dated back to the beginning of may when he went to L.A. i was going to make a scrapbook for him when we finally got a place together in so.cal. but what i have seen in the over 600 emails is his frustration with the "i'll call you's" or the "let's get togethers" and the attempts at just making sandwiches for people for a living. he had no job experience at anything besides drumming. so he received constant rejection. he tried as best he could. he felt like a fish out of water. he didn't know how to reinvent himself.

i only ask that each of us help each other as much as we can. times are getting tougher, and we have only ourselves to turn to. i live in an attic studio less than 400 sq.ft. and was willing to share it with michael because he needed it. oh, and because we loved each other. it was tight, and might have worked, if he hadn't already emotionally given up.

i honour his choice to go, but, like you, wish he had dropped some of his pride and his mask and asked for more help. some people find that impossible.

and yes cat, i was at the echo with michael, and i was always proud to be with him.

MANY FOLD, in ways you don't even think about.

The next time you think about this , DONT !

I've learned the hard way. Andra

http://www.legacy.com/statesman/Obituaries.asp?Page=Lifestory&PersonId=121120955

and this

http://www.austin360.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/austin/music/entries/2008/12/08/case_morlix_to_play_with_heavy.html

I greatly, greatly enjoyed his company, especially his sense of humor, which was extremely astute and brittle dry to the bone. I remember going to the Capitol Records parking lot record swap meets with him, or hanging out with you, Peter, and him. The interplay of you two guys in conversation used to crack me up, to no end.

Michael was incessantly tuned in to, I guess for want of a better word -- or maybe not, the transcendent, and at the time anyway, Peter, you seemed imminently down to earth. Mike would launch into a lengthy discourse about some impending planetary convergerce and the soon-to-be apocalypse, at which you'd suggest we stroll down to the Boulevard to Peaches Records, or go get some food.

The two of you seemed among the closest friends I have ever witnessed, and being somewhat of a miltary-brat loner, I envied your bond. Peter, I think Mike was in some way like an older brother, so very proud of what you had done with The Nerves, were doing with The Plimsouls (and have done since solo). To say he greatly admired you would be a gross understatement.

After Michael left LA, he sent me a few postcards--ironically, it seems now, he was good about staying in touch.

A couple of months back, I had asked you, Peter, about Mike on this blog, if you guys still stayed in touch. Maybe only two month's ago.

The last time I visited here, I learned about Jamie Cohen's passing. And now, Michael. From time to time, I think about all the people whose lives and mine have crossed. I'm sure we all do. Where are they now?

I wonder about Jack Fox--a street person, and another utterly fantastic drummer like Michael, a jazzbo, who had hung out with Chet Baker in the day, when he was billed as Chet Baker and The Crew, and played at a club, I think Jack said it was called The Hague. Jack had occasionally gigged with some of the greats, like Shelly Manne. Jack turned me on to In A Silent Way, Coltrane's A Few of My Favorite Things, and so much other jazz.

I wonder about Rick Jefferson. I last saw Ricky on and off when I'd visit Manhattan after I moved back to DC in '83. He still painted, better and better stuff, living above an Italian deli-like restaurant at 31st and 3rd called The Moonstruck, in a room slightly bigger than a closet with a sink, a beat-up TV (perpetually on), the place cluttered with stacks of his paintings, wine in those oversize cartons, always some weed, the bathroom down the hall. The last time I saw him, maybe four years ago, he was not doing well, had lost partial mobility in one leg.

I don't know why I'm rambling about Ricky or Jack, except this news of Michael has reminded me of them again. And of others from Hollywood back then. Michael is someone I have thought about from time to time for many years, always fondly and always wishing I might cross paths with him again.

He had the coolest smile.

Mark M.

It's cold here in San Francisco. The French quarter is covered in snow tonight. Wish I could be in Austin.

Keep your powder dry gang, and yes it is a sweet old world....Sometimes unbearably so.

Chuck Prophet

All this shitty news just reached Mikes friends in Hamburg. It was just a couple of months ago that we had our 40th HS reunion, I can't even tell you how many people asked about Mike...no one knew anything. After reading all these emails I thought I would share some memories that I had with your Michael...he was Mike to me.

I met Mike in grade school. We immediately became best friends. I don't remember much from then except always getting in trouble. We were a couple of horny 10 year olds that got caught stealing girlie magazines out of Mikes fathers car, drawing girlie pictures on my father's plywood (like he'd never see them), getting caught sneaking under the tent at the girlie show at the fair, and going "spying". That's when we would either camp out in the woods behind my house or sleep in my basement because it had a door to get outside. We'd sneak out and look in windows of the better looking female neighbors...we never really saw anything (fucking curtains) but I still ended up getting caught. It seems one neighbor noticed a bunch of footprints in the snow so him and another neighbor kept their eyes open the next time. We saw them running at us so Mike ran one way and I ran another only to fall in a ditch and get caught. I never gave Mike up though...the bond of best friends.

Me and Mike had another bond, music. I played clarinet and Mike drums (of course). We formed the FIRST band...The Swinging Six + One. We marched in Hamburg's sesquicentenial parade. That was 1962, Mike was 12 and I was 11. We had 3 clarinets in the first row, 3 horns in the second row, and 1 drummer in the third. We won some trophy or something for some reason that escapes me now. We played "And The Saints Come Marching In"

The second band never had a name and all we did was practice in Mikes garage or on his front porch. The only memory I have of that is the occassional car that would stop and listen a little.

The third band was called the "Novas". We got a few gigs with that one. I played sax, we had Skip (Stinky) Zintz on rhythm guitar, and Dave (?) on lead. We played several Beatles songs so it had to be around 1965. Mike had a picture of us, he brought it home one of the times he came home over the past 30 years. Maybe he showed it to you. The last band I was in with Mike was called "The Primitives". I graduated to bass guitar and didn't last long in that band. My father was constantly taking the bass away for punishment. One time we had some gig coming up and I HAD to get to practice. My father went golfing so I snuck into his closet, got the bass, and went into the bathroom. I turned the shower on and snuck out the window. For some reason he was only gone a couple of hours. When he got home he asked mom where I was he said "For two hours!" That was the last time he took the bass away because I told him to keep the fucking thing. I think he cut it in half and threw it in the garbage. That was the end of my music career. We were just starting our second year of high school and because of that and a beard he told me to shave off I ran away for the third time. My dad (rest his soul)was a strict SOB but I was a real asshole and deserved it, I guess. The Primitives got a new bassman and went on without me...it really sucked.

I've been writing all these things down the last 2 days, maybe it's a form of bereavment. At any rate, here's some of my memories: Club 69: we (Stinky, John "Pumpkin" Ottley, Bob "Herbie" Herr, Jim "Hambone" Hammond, John "Dylan" Duffett, Steve "Oakes" Ockler) and others built this clubhouse on a cliff of eighteen mile creek behind Stinky's house. It had beds, TV, and a fridge to keep the beer cold. We were around 16 years old. There was a bar across the street and every week a beer truck would pull up. While the driver took cases of beer out one side, we would take cases out the other side. There was also a supermarket over there. Sometime in the early morning a big truck would drop off these giant metal containers of donuts. Beer and donuts, a taste delight. One time we fucked up and took giant boxes of bread. This led to a bread war. When we woke up we found ourselves surrounded by various critters that snarled at us when we threw rocks at them. We got our BB guns. That just seemed to piss them off more so we just let them finish eating. Since we had all these BB guns Mike got the bright idea of jumping the creek and shooting at us...a war started. Man did them fuckers hurt when they hit. Me and Mike had bows. We used to shoot arrows at anything that moved, even each other. One time we (I'm sure it was Mikes idea)decided to play chicken. It was at night and we stood next to each other and shoot arrows straight up in the air and waited for them to drop. I remember hearing one hit the garage roof. The next thing that happened was Mike started jumpng up and down laughing that laugh of his. The other arrow had hit and sunk WAY into the ground right next to his foot...that was the last time we played that game. Stealing cars: Stinky's dad had a collision shop right next to his house (and club 69). His parents went golfing every Sunday. The keys to all the cars were hanging up on this peg board right in the open...too much to ignore. We put a new meaning to "Sunday drives". We never got caught until this one guy, Bob (Cracker) Graham said, "Let's take my dads car, he's gone all day" Our mistake was letting him drive. He passed this car and hit it pulling back into the lane. He floored it and we took off. We went back to Zintz's collision shop and got some fiberglass and stuff to fix the dent. Back at his house I remember his mother and father coming home to find a whole bunch of us working on the car. Bob said "Me and some of the guys are fixing up the rust spots". The excuse worked until the police showed up. It turns out the guy we hit got the license plate number (DUH). Bob never gave them our names...that bond thing again. '57 chevy: The original onwer was Bert something or other. The biggest memory of that was when we were on the skyway going 60+ mph and somebody (Mike?)says "Hey look at that wheel...it's passing us" We got a big laugh until Bert recognized the wheel as being one of his. He said he didn't think you were supposed to tighten up the lug nuts so the wheel could turn. Mike, Herbie, Jeff and his brother "Dork" Mitzo bought that car. All of us spent a lot of time fixing it up. There are a million memories but the one that sticks out is, in a semi crash, we had a "Stay off the median" sign stuck in the floor of the back seat. Kind of ironic. We used the metal to repair the hole in the floor. The Banana Machine: An impromtu band that talked other bands into letting us use their equipment and play during their breaks. It featured the regulars and Pat (Pickle) Gerkin and Craig (King Bee) Cwick. Stinky's mom: You notice his name comes up a lot? That's because his dad was always at the shop and was really cool("BITE THE BONE") and his mother was always gone. NO ONE HOME. Plus, the Novas practiced in his huge bedroom. All we had to do was watch out for all the dog shit. Stinky (you wonder why we named him that?)would just kick the shit under his bed, we would yap at him a little, and then start practice. His mom enters the picture when Duffett found some nude polaroids of her. He took a couple of them but she ended up blaming me. She then got a Duffett-disguised-voice phone call warning her that those pictures would be put on a high school bulletin board if she called my parents. We never heard another word and she was cool enough to allow us to continue the practices. Bob (BJ) Jordans (another fucked up suicide): His father actually had beer on tap in this patio off his garage. That was just too easy until we fucked up, did something that involved the police, and he diconnected the tap. Mike, BJ, Duffett, and I think Oakes ran away...it was the one time I didn't participate. The Fountain Club (FC): We were a large group of seniors who caused havoc between evey class. There were 3 dozen of us, Pickles was Den Mother and our yearbook was dedicated to Stinky, in memorium. Stinky was also head of the FC demolition squad. M-80's went off weekly. One went in the teacher's lounge, some went down toilets, several blew up lockers, and the coup d gras was the second floor ceramic drinking fountain being DESTROYED by several perfectly timed blast's. There was shrapnel as far as the eye could see, even on the first floor. The principal had enough, he immediately got Stinky and expelled him from Hamburg HS forever. Some of the other things we did were burning schedule cards (like burning draft cards), cooking and eating real turkey in the cafeteria at Thanksgiving (including beer), the race riot (Stinky vs. the only black kid in the school John "the bomber" Phillips), the week long community red cross fund drive followed by the free beer blast at Chestnut Ridge, the day we cornered Wildman (a teacher) in the bathroom and flicked cigarette butts at him, the inquisition (a persecution of all Fountain Club Members after the mysterious fountain demolition), the days all bathrooms were closed after the riots in the halls (a show of support for Stinky), Animal Day (we all brought out favorite pets-snakes, frogs, mice, various insects) and released them, and the fountain club tapping ceremony (a welcoming of new members to continue the saga...which did die after we graduated).

Mike only made it back home a handful of times since he left (1970?). Each time we would have great laughs over the things I have shared with you today. The last time he was here he brought Crystal (?) and Story. I've never seen him so happy...

When Herbie called and told me about Mike it was like someone punched me in the stomach. Pumpkin heard it from somewhere. We've been passing this fucked up news to everyone and I think a lot of Mikes boyhood friends are getting punched in the gut...at least it sounds like it when we talk. Friends are friends, but boyhood buddies are forever...I include women in that group. The one friend I can't find is Jon Duffett. I just tried to get his brother, maybe he'll call tomorrow. If anyone knows anything...

There are just too many memories of Mike for me to type. I'm a two finger typist and have been at this all day. I've also sucked down 6-7 beers and need a break. I hope you enjoyed my flashbacks.

REST IN PEACE MY FRIEND, I HOPE THE DEMONS ARE GONE.

There was a bedroom, a living room, a kitchen and a bathroom, and they were all quite small, and seemed even smaller when they were packed with stoned kids, the usual story in 1969 and '70. I spent some of the most formative hours of my youth in that pad, in various attitudes and mental states. Some of those hours went by in a second, while others took a thousand years.

Bannister and Jon Duffett lived there in 1969 when I first started going over. It was their apartment. Those guys were heros to me, several years older, and way more mature. It was like they lived on Mount Olympus. I'd see them walking in a crowd, in long hair, like gypsies, scarves and sashes, Western clothes and rags, and it seemed like they were always with beautiful girls in likewise colorful clothes. Bannister was always rock and roll dapper, and his best friend JD ragged with cigarette dangling. It was like having an outlaw version of the Beatles or the Stones walking by the house, on their way crosstown for some fun. Just to see them going past was intoxicating.

The first time I saw that gang go by was from my parents porch, where I was goofing around with some little kid. I watched them go on down the street. I knew where I wanted to be after that. Out there with them. And soon I was.

There was an atmosphere of intelligence around them, something higher, I don't know what, or where it was coming from: ha!

We're told the story: Bannister had been the drummer in a garage band called the Novas, and was a member of a rebellious high school gang called the Fountain Club, which really pulled off some insane and legendary hijinks. He also ran with the adolescent fraternity called 'Club 69' which built their own clubhouse in the woods by the Eighteen Mile Creek, a shack complete with beds and a refrigerator for their beer. There was nothing too bright about that place, it was all a teenage Punch and Judy show, but Mike had picked up some subtlety since then, and jettisoned that crowd as he grew up. He had developed a more thoughtful manner. Maybe it was Jon's influence, I don't know.

Oh how I miss those days when everybody's hearts ran fast to the thrills of the night, when Bannister would light up with excitement about a new band, or a new song, a way of talking, a girl he'd seen around the neighborhood or just the admiration of character in one of our friends. He had an eye for fine points of character back then.

I can hardly stick with writing this now. I stopped and watched his clips on youtube, fascinated by his youthful beauty and manner, then chilled by the example of his poetry.

His life long drive to reverse the darkness, get the stain off of his own hands and onto the average daily world, the world of normalcy, his tormentors, the objects of his hatred:

'I'm so tired of your empty chatter, I'm so bored with your common self aggrandizement And I'm so fed up with your lifeless ambition your nickel and dime mentality, your petty little dreams your phony laughter your unnoticed arrogance your everyday normal ignorance your stupid little smiles your oblivious stupidity, your stupid obliviousness your obnoxious overbearing confidence your selfish self-sameness your deluded self assuredness your well adjusted pride your simplistic dogmas your materialistic viewpoint your mediocre value systems i know you cant help it because you are the common herd since time immemorial you don't know any better and to always have the last word because you are the people who murdered Jesus and never understood Van Gogh.'

I listened to this example of Michael's poetry and at first, felt indicted. I ended up feeling that Michael had mostly described himself: this blanketing hatred of his fellows points the way to a huge self hatred, the disdain of one who has no love of the human in himself.

Are all so-called normal peoples dreams petty? No. They dream of attaining dignity in their lives and passing it on to their children. Is all their laughter phony? No, but even if it were, compassion is required. That was the message of Jesus and Van Gogh. Love for the people, in all their sin and horror. And love has to begin at home, with oneself.

Michael was a very angry man.

There was another side to him, but he didn't trust it. He felt more fortified in his rage. And how does a kid who's never known a loving father get his mind around God? In my opinion thats what had to happen. It's hard to do. But the answers in life are spiritual. You can go a good part of the way without it, but the road tightens up.... the way forward can disappear. Your start needing and looking for the magic door in the wall.

If you ask, it's always there.

That's the way I see it, anyhow.

i was so touched by the postings of his childhood friends. michael spent many many hours talking about his childhood with me. he had an excellent ability to remember little details. it seemed those may have been some of his happiest days of his life. one of his favourite movies was "stand by me", as to him, it was reminiscent of his youth.

regarding duffet? michael showed me an email from duffet that he received a few months ago. he was on his way to thailand. and in duffet's typically lyrical way, it sounded so cryptic, and it sounded so final. from what duffet said, michael was worried he would never hear from him again. he sadly pondered that for quite awhile.

michael was a paradox. and as "angry" as his poetry often sounded, i don't believe he was so angry, as he was fearful about where it would all lead. he was more comfortable talking about the past than he was in dreaming about the future. through him, i was launched on my own challenge of trying to live more present moment. it was my attempt to minimize our fears regarding the future and the unknown. often times it felt to me that he would like to have had a script to follow, something he could count on; that the spontaneity of life worried him more than excited him. he needed so much reassurance that everything would be okay.

i have spoken with some of his close friends at length since his death. it seems more apparent to me now that he was physiologically depressive. i had encouraged him to get some blood work done maybe 3 years ago. unfortunately, the doctors probably didn't order the more definitive ones, this could all be a different story. michael told me the doctors told him he was healthy as an ox. (he was an ox in the chinese astrology, and i am a serpeant, he loved to talk about our compatibilities.) but i always felt that he needed physical balancing, even though i knew he was resistant to western medicine.

when i met him in 2004, he was drinking alcohol pretty often. but it appeared that he had been sober for many years while helping kristel raise their son. during our time together, i encouraged us both to quit alcohol, as it is a depressant, and i felt was exacerbating the negativity in our lives. i believe it helped somewhat, but his mood swings from coping to not coping continued. i often felt like a cheerleader for him, encouraging him to just take it a day at a time, try not to jump ahead into tomorrow's unknown. this effort required much energy, i often felt that my full-time career was my relationship with michael, whether we were currently seeing each other or taking a break!

during one of our breaks a year or so ago, he had a tatoo done on his upper right arm. then, during a reconcilliation later that year, i saw it. it said "shattered" above a bleeding broken heart, my initials (K.B.) and the year 2006. when i saw it i said, "but we split up in 2007." and he replied "yes, but my heart opened to you in 2006." that was the way he thought about spiritual love. that one's heart would break OPEN to love. i wish his heart could have opened to love himself.

i have been told to not be so hard on myself, and i am trying to learn to do this. but i feel i will always wish i had taken his depression more seriously and tried harder to help him get the professional help he needed.

i doubt i will ever walk down a street with anyone again and be asked, as michael and i often were, "are you guys somebody? are you from hollywood?" although he acted like it annoyed him, i know it made him feel important in a way he wished he was. he could never understand why so many of his contemporaries had 'made it big' and he had not. but to me, he was the best and will probably always be the most sensitive and expressive man i will know.

some of my initial shock over michael's death has subsided. but i still feel like half my heart has been violently removed, like he took it with him. michael, i wish you hadn't left so soon...

either you are rock n roll or your not

its a way of life an "attitude"

it goes against society and its morals

so its really not a music its more a way of life

some musicians loose this along the way.

some never had it never will.

i believe michael had it on some level.

so you can either give up being rock n roll

witch most do..but if it comes natural if its who

you are then its till death...so michael

i respect you and your decision ''

i love you........greg berg

With respect :), Brennan.

Regards :D Vern.

This was way before The Whaling Beamish, whom I adored to no end as well. Tom Green was a great guy, great drummer, playing "Politician", "Green River", and I ended up treating HIS father as well, the Candy Man of Hamburg. I was in love with Holly Whitehill, & (who wasn't?) I'd get her the correct lyrics to her songs by memorizing them off of Howie Evert's sheet music. She'd smile. That was enough. I thought Ralph Wickson played drums with Pig Nation, or at least he did at the Masonic Temple that night with you and Mr. Fuller on keys. That whole, slightly elder crowd influenced me and made me a better musician, as I am still shedding, lessoning, playing and teaching here in Fl. I retired as a D.C. I know I missed the boat as far as hitting the right slot, and I envy you that. I never thought you had it in you. Such is youth. Your Dad filled me in a bit on you, and I'm glad you are seeing the light...or A light...good luck with your family.

You probably have no idea who the fuck I am. But I remember you.

I'd often search for Mike on the web and found that he was in a Southwestern Indian kinda band or something...but not being close, other than that day when he made a lasting impression on me, I didn't keep up. He'da never remembered me anyway. I do remember Zintz's treehouse though, being right behind my Dad's Tavern on the creek bank. I was up there too, once.

I became a drummer, in 1963-4 following the Beatles onslaught in '64, way before you left,(1970?) then became a chiropractor, who treated your Pa, Wilbur. A great guy. I also wrote you, but never got anything back. Saw you on Dave too. Almost shit myself. Read some bio on you about John Hurt and your love of his styles.

Mike was always an enigma to me, like a god who swept by me in a moment, leaving behind just a scant bread-crumb trail. Shall I follow it?

At least, he is at peace now.

Jerry Mammoser Clearwater, Fl