Zombie Fonzie

Lux Interior is dead.

I’m not sure when he died or where or how, but I’ve read reports he passed away yesterday, or maybe even the previous weekend. He had a heart condition, which sounds vague, and not very rock and roll. But oh well. If you never heard of Lux, it’s your loss – for he was the legendary showman who fronted the Cramps, the insidiously infectious band that perfected the deranged sound known as “psychobilly.”

Interior’s real name was less flamboyant (Eric Lee Purkiser), and he formed the Cramps with his sultry, red-headed wife, Kristy “Poison Ivy” Wallace, in 1976. I discovered the band in my early teens, enthralled with a grainy photo of the group in an old issue of Creem magazine. With their seedy clothes and unfocused stares, they had the Ed Gein vibe down pat. For three dollars, I sent away for the infamous Urggh! Compilation, a live concert album featuring a number of bands from the IRS label – the Go Gos, X, Pere Ubu and the unforgettable Toyah Wilcox.

On it as well: the Cramps – offering an unhinged version of “Tear it up.” That song drove me to buy the Cramp’s first full length album “Songs the Lord Taught Us,” which I played every day of my life for ten years. It’s solidly one of the greatest rock albums of all time – lurid, hilarious, and savage – I can recall every single moment of that album in my head. I also picked up their EP, “Gravest Hits,” which featured their psychotic surf single, “Human Fly.” I was hooked. While everyone else was listening to David Naughton and Donna Summer, I had the Cramps.

I think I might own about everything the Cramps ever put out between 1976 and 1990. At the age of 15, a buddy and I went to see them at the Old Waldorf, a tiny place in San Francisco. Somehow we managed to get served drinks, and we stood at the front of the stage, waiting for the world’s most dangerous band. I was scared up to the moment they took the stage, and I’ll never forget Lux when he loped out – a skyscraper of veins and sinew. After a few songs, he politely asked people for drugs, which he ingested without much inspection. By the end of the show, he was buck naked, writhing on the ground. He bantered with us during the whole show – endearingly polite and articulate – which made his looming, garish physical presence even more compelling. When I saw the band two years later at the Russian Center, Lux put my friend Geo in a headlock, pounding him in the skull, while singing “The Crusher.” Afterward they thanked each other.

Here’s a clip of the Cramps, from the early days, playing at Napa State Mental Hospital. And yes, those are actual patients wandering among the band.

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When I became editor in chief of Stuff Magazine back in 2000, I made it a goal to abuse the job in a number of ways, and one was to meet people I admired. I made a short list, including only Iggy Pop, Joe Strummer, Mike Patton and the Cramps. Over time, I crossed each one off the list – but the meeting with Lux and Poison was the most gratifying.

It was back in 2003, a few days after I’d unleashed a group of midgets on a publishing conference, which led to the end of my tenure at Stuff. I was camped out in LA, fresh from interviewing Pam Anderson about something forgettable, when I got a call that the Cramps had agreed to act as the guinea pig for a new column I’d be writing called “Dinner with _____”. In each column, I’d have dinner with someone, and write about it. If you think this was simply a method to get my meals expensed, you’re not wrong.

I drove through the hills of Glendale, near the massive cemetery, to find Lux’s and Poison Ivy’s cool little home, decorated with candles, blinking lights and – if I remember correctly – gargoyles. I brought them a gift – a weird lamp I found on Melrose. They seem genuinely pleased. I was nervous, and talked too much, a little too loudly. No surprise.

We drank and talked for hours, about music mostly – but we ended up focusing the conversation on marriage and love. As crazy as their band was, Lux and Poison had been your basic, happily married couple, growing old together in a small, cluttered home. With a cat. They were humble, friendly hosts who kept my wine glass full as the night drifted into hazy babble (mine, mostly). I tape recorded the evening for the article – but shortly after that evening, my job was gone. The incident with the midgets caused my undoing -and I was no longer at Stuff. I cannot find the tape, and that kills me.

Still, I didn’t care too much- because I met the coolest people alive and now dead – the Cramps. If you’ve never heard their music, I strongly suggest sampling “Psychedelic Jungle,” first, because it’s the most accessible. Go to Itunes and check out the track “Googoo Muck.” It’s delightful. For people who love their music more manic, go directly to “Songs the Lord Taught Us,” which is one of the best rock and roll albums ever made. It’s evil, fun and reckless. The song “Garbageman,” may be Lux at his best, singing like a man possessed by demons and good humor – imagine Fonzie as a zombie, only cooler.

The man will be missed.

All my best to Ivy.