A Good Death: Arthur Kane
Though a statement such as “Today is a good day to die” is mostly reserved (at least in Hollywood) to gunslingers, Apache warriors and Samurai swordsmen, I would like to begin what I hope will become a series of entries dedicated to good deaths in the realm of the arts.
Though most of the posts I am planning will have more to do with literary figures, I would like to start rather with a musician, Arthur “Killer” Kane, of “The New York Dolls” fame.
Perhaps it is not a good place to start, as his death, or the narrative of his death was brought to my attention as an overly produced and manipulated cinematic document, that is, the documentary, “The New York Doll” (2005, directed by Greg Whiteley).
Since I have no access to the story of his life through other sources, I have no choice but to refer to the cinematic version, but I must say that perhaps my biggest problem with it, would be actually that I wasn’t the one who threaded it together. So I will leave my ego aside for now and recount the series of events.
Arthur “Killer” Kane was the bassist of the famed “Dolls”, a rock group that emerged in New York City in the 70s and is considered as the group that opened the door for the punk rock era. Since I am not a rock historian, I’m afraid I cannot really contribute much in terms of musical critique, but the story is pretty fascinating.
The story brought forth in the movie is a story of redemption, of second chances, a modern day Greek tragedy. The Dolls had it all, the hype, the fame, the money, and were destined to remain the top of the game for many more years, if drugs and egos didn’t get in the way, which they did.
Some of the members were lost to Heroine, and the others went on to pursue their individual projects to varying degrees of success (It seems the only one who was really able to maintain some consistency, was the lead man, David Johansen).
Arthur Kane, on the other hand moved to Los Angeles and tried to regain his success but to no avail.
Slowly failure took its toll on him, and drugs, alcoholism and depression deemed his fate as an inevitable downhill spiral, which led him to several suicide attempts (I may be wrong, it could have been only one), the last of which, he jumped from his 3rd floor apartment only to break several bones that required a few weeks of recovery in the hospital.
It is there, where he found god. He received a leaflet from a Mormon church and wrote them asking to send him some more information. The information arrived in the person of two Mormons who were able to provide him comfort with their talks and redirected him to god.
Since then, though a much more stable and functioning person, he was still living in the past, or rather in that insufferable gap between what he had and what he has now. It is difficult for anyone to imagine a rock and roll personality working as a file clerk in a Mormon center, but it was a reality he had to cope with.
But he still had a dream; he was still hoping that one day he will be able to be on stage again, with the New York Dolls. And it seems life had a few more surprises for him after all.
Morrissey, the longtime admirer and follower of the Dolls (as a kid he headed the UK fan club of the dolls), was appointed in 2005 as the creative director of “Meltdown” festival, and one his first ideas was to reunite the Dolls for the concert.
He contacted Kane and the remaining members, and after a few weeks of rehearsals they preformed admirably in the concert. Kane received his chance, was able to reconcile with Johansen, and the dream became a reality.
Shortly after returning to the United States, Kane complained that he was suffering from jet-leg and overall weariness. After two weeks in which his state persisted he checked into a hospital and was diagnosed with some form of Leukemia. He died within hours of his diagnosis.
The film ends with the heartbreakingly appropriate Smiths song, “Please, please, please, let me get what I want”.
The proximity of the realization of his dream and his death is almost too uncanny. Those who favor longevity may object to my observation, but what good is a prolonged life if the echoes of one’s shortcomings will haunt him. And furthermore, wouldn’t the significance of this miraculous achievement wear off in times, breeding only more desires and more heartaches?
Timing is everything, especially when it comes to poetic justice.
Though most of the posts I am planning will have more to do with literary figures, I would like to start rather with a musician, Arthur “Killer” Kane, of “The New York Dolls” fame.
Perhaps it is not a good place to start, as his death, or the narrative of his death was brought to my attention as an overly produced and manipulated cinematic document, that is, the documentary, “The New York Doll” (2005, directed by Greg Whiteley).
Since I have no access to the story of his life through other sources, I have no choice but to refer to the cinematic version, but I must say that perhaps my biggest problem with it, would be actually that I wasn’t the one who threaded it together. So I will leave my ego aside for now and recount the series of events.
Arthur “Killer” Kane was the bassist of the famed “Dolls”, a rock group that emerged in New York City in the 70s and is considered as the group that opened the door for the punk rock era. Since I am not a rock historian, I’m afraid I cannot really contribute much in terms of musical critique, but the story is pretty fascinating.
The story brought forth in the movie is a story of redemption, of second chances, a modern day Greek tragedy. The Dolls had it all, the hype, the fame, the money, and were destined to remain the top of the game for many more years, if drugs and egos didn’t get in the way, which they did.
Some of the members were lost to Heroine, and the others went on to pursue their individual projects to varying degrees of success (It seems the only one who was really able to maintain some consistency, was the lead man, David Johansen).
Arthur Kane, on the other hand moved to Los Angeles and tried to regain his success but to no avail.
Slowly failure took its toll on him, and drugs, alcoholism and depression deemed his fate as an inevitable downhill spiral, which led him to several suicide attempts (I may be wrong, it could have been only one), the last of which, he jumped from his 3rd floor apartment only to break several bones that required a few weeks of recovery in the hospital.
It is there, where he found god. He received a leaflet from a Mormon church and wrote them asking to send him some more information. The information arrived in the person of two Mormons who were able to provide him comfort with their talks and redirected him to god.
Since then, though a much more stable and functioning person, he was still living in the past, or rather in that insufferable gap between what he had and what he has now. It is difficult for anyone to imagine a rock and roll personality working as a file clerk in a Mormon center, but it was a reality he had to cope with.
But he still had a dream; he was still hoping that one day he will be able to be on stage again, with the New York Dolls. And it seems life had a few more surprises for him after all.
Morrissey, the longtime admirer and follower of the Dolls (as a kid he headed the UK fan club of the dolls), was appointed in 2005 as the creative director of “Meltdown” festival, and one his first ideas was to reunite the Dolls for the concert.
He contacted Kane and the remaining members, and after a few weeks of rehearsals they preformed admirably in the concert. Kane received his chance, was able to reconcile with Johansen, and the dream became a reality.
Shortly after returning to the United States, Kane complained that he was suffering from jet-leg and overall weariness. After two weeks in which his state persisted he checked into a hospital and was diagnosed with some form of Leukemia. He died within hours of his diagnosis.
The film ends with the heartbreakingly appropriate Smiths song, “Please, please, please, let me get what I want”.
The proximity of the realization of his dream and his death is almost too uncanny. Those who favor longevity may object to my observation, but what good is a prolonged life if the echoes of one’s shortcomings will haunt him. And furthermore, wouldn’t the significance of this miraculous achievement wear off in times, breeding only more desires and more heartaches?
Timing is everything, especially when it comes to poetic justice.
posted by nilov at 10:02 AM
1 Comments:
wow, bro the muse is with you. GARCON! fetch my writting pants i am feeling a poem coming on....
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