Sophomore year at school was when things really kicked into gear, drug wise. It was the year that my life credo was imparted to me by a t-shirt. It was 1993, two years after Punk broke and my new roommate Alex was working on a mockumentary about GG Allin.
Back then not too many people knew what GG was about. I did though. I’d seen him and the Murder Junkies (his band) at a horrible show back in Boston where I grew up. I unfortunately bore witness to GG defecating on stage in front of the audience of maybe 15 people. The show was in a spare room above a record store in Allston, Boston’s student ghetto neighborhood. The music was terrible. You’d have to set the bar incredibly low to have called those guys musicians. Anyway with that spectacle, I felt ok about classifying myself as officially “done” with GG Allin for, I hoped, the rest of my life.
To add insult to injury, my brother Josiah and I had also been chased by GG’s brother Merle and a crew of knuckle-dragging skinheads. They accosted us at our hangout on the library steps in Copley Square. That crew had wanted to beat us up and steal our Docs. They, thankfully, weren’t able to catch us. We lost them by running into the Sheraton Copley hotel and begging security to grant us cover, which they grudgingly did.
Maybe the rarest Murder Junkie sighting came when we spotted Merle buying like 10 pre-packaged enemas at the drugstore one morning before school. I’ll never forget the sight. A dirty dude with a Hitler mustache and a studded leather jacket with “AIDS Brigade” scrawled in magic marker on the back buying enemas at 7:30 am stays with you. In short I knew those dudes were messed up and that it would be wise to steer clear.
So, ultimately I didn’t have to think too hard when Alex asked me to come along and help film GG’s show at the NYU student center. “Fuck that!” was my answer.
“Why not?” Alex asked. I knew he just wanted another sherpa along to help him haul gear.
“Because I know GG’s deal and I’m not in the mood to have shit thrown at me. That’s not entertainment.”
“Fair enough.” He said and we went our separate ways for the evening. He found another human mule to carry equipment, because as he later reported, he got the footage that included, as predicted, human fecal matter being flung at the audience. I can’t wait to see the movie. It’s called “Hated” (a great title if you ask me) and it was directed by Alex’s classmate, some dickhead named Todd. I did end up helping out later on with some interview footage that the crew shot on our roof on East 10th Street. GG, when he showed up about 2 or 3 hours late, smelled awful and was falling down drunk. I kept my distance. I didn’t smell actual shit on him but his B.O. was off the charts. It was fucking disgusting.
Cut to the t-shirt – Alex’s father owned a T-shirt printing company, so one of the perks of working on the film were the free crew t-shirts he had made. I still have mine. The coolest part of the shirt is the quote on the back, which says, “Drugs come before rock ‘n roll.”
Reading that line on the t-shirt was a revelation. Drugs are the most important thing. Rock ‘n roll is great and sex is even better, but the truly indispensible part of the equation are the drugs. Drugs are what I can’t and don’t want to do without. I was bummed to discover I have the same cosmic truth as GG. He is truly an awful person. Damaged goods. But apparently we have similar priorities. It’s my thing. Drugs are A1 fucking number One.