Today, I decided to grab a nap after hours of trying to figure out why the USB port on a rather expensive piece of music gear just decided to stop working. I knew that if I didn't, I would just get more wound up by this sudden kick to the nads.
It was a peaceful sleep, one that left me feeling refreshed as I rubbed the last bits of sleep from my eyes. I put my glasses on and noticed a photo of The Muffs' Kim Shattuck on my Twitter feed.
This was not unusual, since the Muffs have a new album coming out and, as a result, the ol' PR machine is slowly ramping up, as they say.
The headline below the photograph included the words "Rest in peace", which registered immediately, but made no sense. Shattuck, I said to myself, is only a few years older than I am. How can this be?
Upon clicking the story, however, it became quickly apparent that she had, in fact, passed away (in her sleep, apparently from ALS). My thoughts immediately turned to her husband, whose world, I imagine, has been shaken to its core, and the two bandmates she leaves behind, Ronnie Barnett and Roy McDonald.
Having spent a large part of my life in Los Angeles, it was not uncommon to see Kim at Spaceland on many a night in the early 2000's checking out many of the same bands that I was. One night, she actually recruited me to walk her to her car, or home, I couldn't really tell. See, Silver Lake may be the hipster capitol of L.A., but it's also kind of sketchy at 2AM.
We walked a good couple of blocks down the street from Spaceland and, upon reaching a driveway, or a car, she stopped, thanked me, and that was that. I continued for another several blocks to where my car was parked
I couldn't help think what an innocent, trusting gesture that had been because, let's face it, she didn't know me from Jeffrey Dahmer. I just happened to be leaving the club at the same time she was, but she informed me that she had noticed me at Spaceland many times because I always wore the same t-shirt.
"Jane's got one just like it," she said, referring to Go-Go Jane Wiedlin, who had worn the t-shirt in a recent promo photo for her band at the time. It was the only reason I had bought the $48 (!) t-shirt when I saw it at a boutique on Ventura Blvd months earlier.
From that moment on, anytime I saw her at Spaceland, she'd wave and smile and point at my t-shirt, which I now always made a point to wear because I was all about running gags, you see.
More than most, Kim appreciated being known for what you wear, as I'm sure many reading this picture her in their minds wearing her trademark school girl dress, or whatever the fuck its called, I can barely think at this moment, so forgive me.
The Muffs were not a huge band, but, damn, they were beloved. I caught many a show in their hometown of L.A. and, even as the labels putting out their records got smaller and smaller, their fan base became more and more devoted.
Kim never went through the motions or, if she did, it never showed. You could tell that she was in it for the love of the game, so to speak, as was everyone in that audience.
We all appreciated the devotion to a concept and a way of life that had never wavered, even as people stopped buying music because, hey, it's free.
Seeing the Muffs preparing to put out a new record was proof that, despite mounting evidence to the contrary, the world had not completely gone to shit.
With her sudden and inexplicable passing, however, I am left gutted like a fish and momentarily convinced that it finally has.
May you rest in peace, Kim.