In praise of James Michael Shepard

[Magrittes Pipe]

"When they finally come, will they be metal or meat?"



Fucking Florida.

Only a man from Florida would make Columbus, Ohio his adopted home. Columbus, the flatlands, Cow Town. Cleveland's got the lake, and Cincinnati's got the river, and what's Columbus got? Not a lot, 'cept fitty thousand drunk-assed college students and R & R.

These were the days before punk, before "indie," before "college" music. These were the days that if you weren't playing "You Ain't Seen Nothin' Yet," wasn't NO bar in central Ohia gon' pay you to play.

People always think I'm talkin' on the author -- "Reptile House" and that shit -- when I bring up Shep. It's a shame more people aren't familiar with the punk-rock prophet, the noise-guitar virtuoso, the gutter poet of Columbus.

He weren't no Richard Thompson, with the precision pickin' and all that; neither was he Sharrock, nor Beck, nor Django. Didn't pull a Jimi and reinvent the instrument. Damn, he could make that sumbitch WAIL, though. Twisted the fuckin' strings halfway round the neck. Got this staccatto feedback thing goin' on that would make a dog piss himself. And layered on a vocal growl that sounded like the very end of the world, or at least a bartender announcing last call.

"I'm looking for that new thrill, I'm looking for that new pill"

See, when you listen to Jim play the gee-tar, you hear. You hear the fuckin' booze, the pain, the loss, the joy. Every fucking thing he experienced, he put into his songs. And there were many, many songs. The live Vertical Slit cassette (released on Mike Hummel's New Age imprint), Under the Blood Red Lava Lamp, has become a bit of a cult classic over the years; but there was so much more. The shit he did for the (later renamed, after Amrep got wind of what "new age" meant) Old Age/No Age tape compilations in the '80s is nothing short of brilliant. Mike's got miles of tape from this period, most of which has never seen the light of day. Then Shep got his break.

FFwd, early '90s. After releasing an ass-load of solo recordings via his publishing company, Iron Press, Jim's got a new band: V-3. The powerfullest power trio you're likely to hear; Cream meets Sonic Youth in a damn rock blender. Zep playing Stockhausen with Mark E. Smith lyrics.

Then in 1995, American picked up V-3 and tried to hype the (excellent) album Photograph Burns with big kiosk displays at Tower Records.

http://www.v-3web.com/images/writing/ads,%20handbills,%20etc/newsletteramerican.gif

It didn't sell. Of course it didn't fucking sell, you jackasses, it's fucking BRILLIANT! You think a consumer base full o' Pearl Jam fans is gonna swoop down and plug they headphones into WIPE THAT STUPID EGO SMILE OFF YOUR STUPID AMERICAN FACE? Of course it didn't fucking sell, but Jim had been through worse: thrown through a windshield, his fretting fingers tore half off in an industrial lathe, that shit never slowed him down. He'd been through worse.

V-3 got dropped. It was no surprise... to anyone but Jim. I don't get it, most of his friends didn't get it -- seems he thought this record was gonna make him a star. Not that he didn't deserve it, of course, but there's maybe one genius in a generation who achieves enduring fame. And as any astronomer can tell you, some stars burn faster than others....

"Got a hooker who likes to play solitaire while I'm havin' blackouts"

Jim put out Pimping in the '90s, a killer comp of V-3, Skullbank, solo shit.... The V-3 LP Evil Love Deeper followed, and '97 found Jim in a barn with Mike, Ron House, Don Howland, and Tommy Jay to record the sublime The Room Isn't Big Enough as Columbus' finest "super-group," Ego Summit.

They pressed 1000 copies, and Hummel still has a cache of 'em at home.



See, Shep always had hisself elbow-deep in the shit of existence. Death, degradation, anger were all common themes in his writing; because they're things EVERYONE experiences. It's common ground. But he'd churn out some dreadful, violent song, then be sweet and generous to friends and strangers alike.

October 16, 1998, Jim hanged himself. 40 years old. I'll be forty in ten. Charles Cicirella marked the occasion thusly:

"Jim Shepard with his fingers, knuckles, and wiggly digits spoke out for all of us recognizing early on that most people’s love is highly charged with damage and a too low opinion of themselves. Everything he set to task bordered on being ultimately primitive and tragically passionate and this is exactly why the impressions he continues digging into our consciousness outlast life’s hollow and pathetic excuses."



"Logical, illogical, some of it just doesn't make sense"

[redqueen]

1. Sad.

I'm curious now.

What prompted you to post this today?

[Magrittes Pipe]

2. The "favorite guitar player" thread.

[cassandra uprising]

3. There's so much good stuff out there

that I have never heard of before. I'll have to check this guy out, any suggestions? I'm one of those ass hats that goes into music phases where I'll latch onto one genre and not listen to anything else. In the early 90's, if it wasn't an indie hardcore band out of NYC, CT or Boston, I wasn't listening to it.

I was one of those kids. :eyes:

[Magrittes Pipe]

4. 3 to get:

Vertical Slit Under the Blood Red Lava Lamp - a '78 set from Magnolia Thunderpussy on High St. You won't find the tape, but Siltbreeze put it out on CD a few years back.

V-3 Photograph Burns - released on Onion/American, so it got plenty of distro. You'll find it in a cut-out bin somewhere.

Ego Summit The Room Isn't Big Enough - go to Used Kids Records and ask them if they have a copy. I bet they do.

[chickenscratching]

5. Great post hedges

I am not familiar with shepard, though your post made my naive little mind feel very interested.