Dick Clark’s death reminded me of the sanctity of life, and the fragility of our time on earth. It also reminded me of the time he and I fronted a death metal band in Norway. Dick and I were high off our tits one night, smoking his trademarked American Bandstand blunts. He told some (admittedly lame) joke about kittens, and I said ‘hey Wagstaff’ (it’s how I referred to him), ‘let’s start a goddamned Norwegian metal band!’ Now Dick was game for anything, but the problem we had was that we KNEW NO NORWEGIANS. I mean, how are we supposed to start a Norwegian death metal band without any fucking Norwegians? Luckily for us, it turned out that Roald Dahl was Norwegian, and also heavily into death metal. I rang him up and he said something about Charlie and his chocolate factory. I ignored his obviously racist comment, and told him my plans to start a death metal band. Now, Roald Dahl was often a bit cautious about committing to things, but shit, he loved my death metal idea. He offered to play lead guitar, which sort of caught me off guard. Don’t get me wrong, he can write a mean children’s story, but ROALD DAHL kind of fucking sucked at lead guitar. It was all pretty derivative, Slash-type stuff. He would stand above a church, a la November Rain, if he could, is all I’m saying. I accepted Roald Dahl’s help, but said maybe he’d like to play drums? Dick Clark, it must be said, was playing some admittedly awesome bass licks.
Meanwhile, as I wasn’t really paying attention, fucking Dick Clark went and found himself a ripped t-shirt and jeans, and was trying to appropriate the entire punk scene. I said, you know, listen Dick, you just can’t really pull it off. I see you more as a Marc Bolan glam type. Well, Dick took to this like water takes to a well! Next thing I know, he’s there in 10-inch platform heels, with a thick (and not unbecoming, even I’ll admit) layer of eyeliner on.
Now, most Norwegian death metal bands are known for burning down churches and cannibalising their lead singers and the like, but we never did that. I can’t say we were ever world-breaking, U2 popular, but we FUCKING KILLED the local Tromsø music scene. I was all about the music, man, but Dick Clark and Roald Dahl got dazzled by the attention. I mean, they thought their shit turned to gold. I said to them ‘hey Dick Clark and Roald Dahl, what about the music, men?’ but they just went off and received blow jobs in their executive hotel suites, where even room service and the mini-bar were paid for, given our famous Tromsø standing.
All this is just my way of saying I’ll really miss Dick Clark. I mean, shit, bass players are a dime a dozen, but Dick was something special. He taught me to love again, not in a gay way, not that I have any problem with that, but more in a brotherly manner.