Faye Hunter, RIP

I house-sat for Mitch and Faye in Chapel Hill back in the mid '70s on occasion when they played a gig or wanted to go out. Their house had been broken into and some of Mitch's fabulous sound equipment and musical instruments had been pilfered. She was sweet and kind and offered to pay me. I was just happy to be able to listen to their great stereo system and unbelievable record collection (mine were for shit), read, write some poetry, and get wasted—free beer and other stuff graciously offered in trade.

Her death by apparent suicide has hit the companions of my youth in Winston-Salem and Chapel Hill pretty hard. I've lost touch with that tight-knit crowd over the ensuing years, but I'm feeling the grief from there.









This comes on the heels of having seen the documentary Big Star: Nothing Can Hurt Me this weekend on On Demand TV. My college roommate and other friends from HS and UNC feature prominently, as do HS friends from Wisdoc's Memphis past.



As a matter of character, I try to resist waves of nostalgia. Yet the past seems so insistent. Maybe it's a Southern thing—that inescapable past. Maybe it's a human thing. When I do give in to nostalgia, it's often to music I turn. And always at the top of the list are these two songs:

I've Been Crying All the Time: RIP Alex Chilton

Growing up in the South in the '70s Alex Chilton & Big Star were RELEVANT! I can't explain. You had to be there. That first album didn't sell much, but I had a copy and I absolutely wore out the grooves on the first side. There was nothing—NOTHING—else like it. Did it change my life? Not saying. Was it a thing of beauty by someone from my own generation? Absolutely.



Thanks, Alex. And goodbye.



"Hanging out.
Down the street.
The same old thing
We did last week.
Not a thing to do
But talk to you.

Steal your car
And bring it down.
Pick me up.
We'll drive around.
Wish we had a joint so bad.

Bust a streetlight.
Out past midnight.."