QUOTE OF THE WEEK: “The rational way of thinking is only a gloss that you put on reality, and if through whatever means necessary you get at what’s under that, you’re touching something more basic.” — David Byrne

SONG OF THE WEEK: “Big Eyed Beans From Venus” — Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band

Roky Erickson
You’re Gonna Miss Me:
The Best Of Roky Erickson
(Restless Records, 1991)

“To live underground, you must be a mole ...” So shrieks Texan-born-and-raised psychedelic singer/songwriter Roky Erickson (a guy who’s about as close to a U.S. version of damaged/brilliant former Pink Floyd lead singer Syd Barrett as you’ll probably ever find) in his classic indie song, “Can’t Be Brought Down.” The tune is deceptively simple at first—like a lot of Erickson’s bar-boogie shufflers—but upon closer inspection bears layers of hidden meanings and cryptic warnings. Though his work in the 1960s with Austin’s (and America’s) first sons of True Psychedelia, The 13th Floor Elevators, bore a remarkable resemblance musically to the solo material he’s released in the interim, the fact is that Roky’s inner mindset and lyrical landscapes are teeming with far more terrifying images than anything even the massive doses of LSD he imbibed back then could ever inspire.

Roger (AKA Roky) Erickson’s fantastic/tragic journey through the shady side streets and foul back alleys of rock ’n’ roll (and society) began, like so many others, with a slightly brighter promise of things to come. A Dallas-to-Austin transplant and a member of a musically inclined family (his mother, Evelyn, sang opera and one of his four brothers played tuba in the Pittsburgh Symphony), he came of age in the first era of rock, and was a huge fan of first Little Richard, and later, Bob Dylan. He himself would eventually wed those influences—the wild, out-of-control abandon of rock ’n’ roll and the near-mystical, dark story-poems of Dylan and his ilk—to create a brand of Southwestern psychedelia that’s influenced such disparate artists as ZZ Top, The Butthole Surfers and The Meat Puppets.

In the beginning, though, Roky played straight-up, balls-to-the-wall rock ’n’ roll and made something of a name for himself as a lead singer with a local Austin band called The Spades, and one of his compositions, “You’re Gonna Miss Me.” He was no angel (he’d dropped out of high school at 17, spent most of his time practicing or playing live gigs, and had one pot bust under his belt before he ever toured outside Texas), but compared to other pockets of youth society in the acid-drenched mid-’60s, Erickson and his band were relatively innocent.

The defining moment in Roky’s career came when, in 1965, a friend introduced him to Tommy Hall, a Memphis native whose doctor/nurse parents had moved to Texas to study at UOT. Hall brought with him a decidedly more boho lifestyle than anything the local kids had been privy to up until that point, and was fascinated by mysticism and outsider theology. He also represented one of the first real enigmas in Roky’s life; a staunch Right Winger, Hall was a member of the Young Americans For Freedom group while at the same time gulping handfuls of high-powered, legal (at the time) LSD and writing far-out songs like “Postures (Leave Your Body Behind)” and “Slip Inside This House.” The impressionable young Erickson was blown away, and soon joined his friend/mentor in what can only be described as a mind-melding experiment that went on for at least a decade and, ultimately, ended in disaster for several members of The 13th Floor Elevators.

Joined by the rhythm section of John Ike Walton and Benny Thurman, plus guitarist Stacy Sutherland, Hall and Erickson proceeded to tear a wide swath through Texas with their legendary stage shows, lysergic lyricism, and particularly, their melding of scientific/mathematical theories with political, biblical and social philosophies. The differences between the psychedelia produced by the ’Elevators and their contemporaries (Jefferson Airplane, The Grateful Dead) were glaring: Where the others reveled in the joys of the flesh and communal living and longed for revolution in the streets, Hall and the boys were basically loners, and aimed their muses both toward the stars and inward, to the mysterious universes inhabiting the deepest recesses of the mind. Many of those philosophies and theories would come back to (literally) haunt Erickson in later days, but at the height of their powers, the band made an indelible mark on the genre. Janis Joplin once applied for a job with them, those live gigs influenced now-revered songwriters like T-Bone Burnett and Doug Sahm, and they were actually signed to Lelan Rogers’ (yep, he’s country crooner/chicken magnate Kenny Rogers’ brother) IA Records in Houston, which was also home to fellow trippers Red Krayola and Bubble Puppy. They hit big nationally (even making the Top 100) with a remake of Erickson’s song, “You’re Gonna Miss Me,” and issued a string of killer 45s and “B” sides which remain highly collectible.

Eventually, though, the drugs and paranoia took their toll on the outfit. Roky’s extensive acid intake caused him to begin forgetting lyrics (of which Hall now says he doesn’t blame him, as they were highly “complex”), and the band soon drifted apart. Hall and Erickson moved to San Francisco, but Roky barely lasted a year there, and ended up back in Texas. Axeman Sutherland developed a deadly heroin addiction and moved to Houston, where he was killed by his wife in a domestic dispute in 1968. Walton and Thurman (along with their brief replacements, Danny Thomas and Dan Galindo) faded into the woodwork, and Hall retired from the business altogether. When he was last heard from, the former self-titled psychedelic teacher was living in a seedy SF hotel and refused to say what he was doing for a living.

When Roky returned to Austin, his mother was shocked at his appearance. Not only was he haggard and sickly in appearance, but he had sores “all over his body” and seemed to be perpetually in a daze. She took him to his first psychiatrist, who immediately began to ply Roky with a plethora of all the latest psycho-tropic “cures”—so many that she had to hire a second shrink to wean her son off of the drugs prescribed by the first one. Around this time, Roky was busted for pot a second time—an offense punishable (at the time) in Texas by more prison time than second-degree murder. Roky, terrified of prison, convinced the judge in the case that he was legally insane, an act which would have grave consequences not only in his immediate future, but for the rest of his life.

Sent to Austin State Hospital, Roky was treated as a nonviolent, relatively harmless inmate—a situation he soon took advantage of by simply walking out of the hospital and hopping into his girlfriend’s waiting car. When he played a highly publicized local gig a few months later, the authorities were waiting as he strode off-stage. He was then taken to the notorious Hospital For The Criminally Insane in Rusk, Texas, where he was thrown into an unspeakable, never-ending nightmare of shock treatment, heavy doses of experimental drugs, and secretive, previously untested therapy sessions. When he finally emerged three years later, he had been irrevocably scarred.

That didn’t stop him from rocking, however. Though he remained on and off different medications (he’d supposedly quit doing any street drugs whatsoever by the mid-’70s) and frequently claimed the Rusk doctors were still administering shock therapy through nearby overhead power lines, he managed to function well enough into the next decade to release some of the most powerful, passionate music of his life. This time, however, the psychedelic imagery of the ‘Elevators was entwined with horrific biblical/demonic inspirations, references to aliens (Roky actually claimed to be from Mars for awhile), zombies, vampires, Lucifer, Cerberus the Two Headed Dog, and various “B” movie monsters—both Hollywood creations and his own. Conversely, Roky could write a love song that sends shivers down your spine (“Starry Eyes,” which was produced by the aforementioned Doug Sahm, is a great example), a swichblades-n-motorbikes rocker that would send Brownsville Station running for cover (check out the ballsy, slicing cut “Don’t Slander Me”), or a gorgeous, life-affirming ballad (“I Have Always Been Here Before” is right up there with Sam Cooke’s “A Change Is Gonna Come” or Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Goin’ On,” at least on a cosmic, humanitarian level) that makes one wonder if some of the visions he saw along his electrifying inner journey weren’t real, after all.

As the ’70s faded into the ’80s, Roky’s personal life took some bad turns—a second wife walked out on him, taking their child—and longtime friends around Austin claimed he sometimes didn’t recognize them. Along the way, he did various short stints in institutions and hospitals, never finding relief and usually regressing even further after each incarceration. And though he cut some of the greatest songs of his career in the early ’80s (and continued to inspire fellow artists, including REM, John Wesley Harding, and The Jesus And Mary Chain), those closest to him could see that he was becoming ever more eccentric and paranoid. In the late ’80s, he was once again busted; this time for a federal mail fraud charge—though from the details of the case, it’s clear that his illness was to blame for his infraction, rather than greed or criminal intent. In a nutshell, by this time he was living in federal housing near Austin, and when a friend who’d lived next door moved away, he left Roky in charge of distributing the other residents’ mail. Roky, not really personally knowing any of the other residents, simply brought it all home and stapled it, unopened, to his walls. When he was finally caught, he told law enforcement that he’d thought the mail was all his anyway. Needless to say, with his record, he once again did time.

In 1990, friends and fans contributed to a long-overdue tribute album, Where The Pyramid Meets The Eye, a loving tip o’ the mic from most of the bands listed above—though Roky wasn’t able to enjoy it until a few years later. Once he was released, he returned to his federal housing unit, where he remains today.

And though there have been several attempts at a come-back, loads of positive books and articles written on him and his music, and a never-ending string of kudos from a new generation of fans and artists, Roky remains pretty much a shut-in these days. Not that he’s alone—at home, he runs a Roland amp at a steady hum and plays several dozen radios and televisions at once—the only way he knows how to shut out the constant voices (Mostly that of the Devil, he says, and listening to his songs—“Don’t Shake Me Lucifer,” “Bermuda,” “Night Of The Vampire,” “I’m A Demon,” “Creature With The Atom Brain,” it’s not hard to swallow that explanation). He watches horror movies, listens to music on an old 8-track tape player, and receives the occasional visitor (usually fellow musicians paying their respects or the odd journalist wondering how much of this convoluted rock ’n’ roll tragedy is really true.

Mostly, though, Roky just waits; not for the next Guided By Voices, Gibby Haynes, or unknown kid from Tulsa to drift by—but for the peace, the tranquility, the inner calm and knowledge he set out to find so long ago. Recently, things have been looking up, though. A loose collective of fans, friends, and artists (including Henry Rollins, The Butthole Surfers, Thurston Moore and Jon Spencer) have formed The Roky Erickson Trust Fund, which makes sure he’s treated fairly by the industry and has all of his legal and personal needs fulfilled. He’s close again with his children, and actually came out of retirement to sing “Starry Eyes” a few weeks ago at the 3rd Annual Roky Erickson Psychedelic Ice Cream Social near Austin. Rollins recently published Roky’s second book, “Openers II,” and his music continues to influence and be covered by modern bands, most notably of late, Queens Of The Stone Age. And there’s finally a couple of reliable R.E. web sites out there, where you can learn even more about the man and his music—check out Paul Rydeen’s excellent tribute site, www.furious.com/perfect/roky.html or, for the official low-down, RokyErickson.net.

Whatever the outcome for Roky, his findings, his discoveries, the essence of his studies and his eccentricities, all lie in his collections of recordings for you to experience safely and vicariously. It’s not a side-trip for everybody, but if you’re willing to scrape up against a few evil doctors, over-zealous Texas Rangers, two-headed dogs, The Devil, some ghosts, a zombie, the Undead, and various indescribable alien life-forms, you just might glean a few specks of Roky’s hard-won wisdom. As he puts it so succinctly in “I Have Always Been Here Before,” “... Everything is familiar/Being here with you/All you’ve ever had before you’ve had to understand/Now all you have to do is want/To have at your command/I have always been here before ...”

Man! Talk about some hairy brushes with “evil doers,” both physical and spiritual, eh? Methinks it’s about time to zip the ol’ Ergo© back to her cozy little bubble-wrap garage and park ‘er for a few months—all this time travelin’ gets my guts in a knot an’ makes my inner clock hands swivel around an’ around like a monkey on a midway ride, anyway. Hope you’ve all had as much fun as I have. Next time out, we’re stickin’ strictly to the freshest no-hit-wonders and modern underground phenoms we can find—until then, make yer own damn news. ||

If you have local music news/info/CD’s you’d like to see mentioned in this column, or you just happen to have a line on a 1999-era Frazzledizz for a used Ergo© Time Machine, send replies to: (NEW E-MAIL!) Tmygunn777@peoplepc.com.