XTC & Everclear

I firmly believe that Andy Partridge is one of rock’s elite statesmen. The type of dude that’s a genius, yet you wonder why he isn’t filthy rich or, at least fully compensated for everything because he’s a national treasure.
He unfortunately isn’t, but his sporadic output over the past few decades and decidedly uncommercial projects seems to point to a lifestyle that’s comfortable and undemanding. And as long as he can muster up the next rewarding material, I’m cool with whatever life has afforded him.
In high school, one my summer rituals was to participate in the drama program’s summer musical. It was a great way to meet girls and interact with some interesting people. I think it says something about a person’s character if they’re willing to stand up and humiliate themselves onstage in front of an audience. These are the people you want in the trenches with you when the shit goes down.
One of the guys that I met was inexplicably transplanted from Louisiana for the summer, and even more inexplicably, managed to negotiate his way into the summer musical program. He was semi-privileged and carried an air of college town swagger with him.
He also carried a pretty decent record collection and he would bring examples of it to the dressing rooms of our town’s lone performance theatre, The Grand. He shared the local’s occasional tastes of left-of-center material, tolerated our affection of pop-metal favorites, and seamless transitioned into our regular pothead drama troupe.
He went on and on about two records: Ultravox Vienna and XTC’s Black Sea. I never really got the appeal of the Ultravox album, but man oh man, did I absolutely love Black Sea. Still do; drop whatever your doing and buy it right now. It’s full of awesomely smart pop rock with killer drum sounds and punchy fucking geetars.
And Black Sea, as I later discovered, wasn’t even Andy Partridge’s first example of brilliance.
There were other examples of it though (English Settlement, Skylarking, and the Dukes of Stratosphere sideproject) and even more examples of near-brilliance (Oranges & Lemons, Apple Venus, Nonesuch, Go 2), but there’s a tremendous segment of well-minded rock fans who have little reference of Andy’s output of three decades.
So, you understand, I’m indebted to that kid from Louisiana, who mysteriously left for college after the summer and never maintained contact with any of us when he left. A good explanation for his silent departure: the last time I saw him was during the cast party after the last performance of the drama department’s production of A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum. He made some cool party invitations that quoted A Clockwork Orange and he threw in some bucks to get a keg for the event. We had it at my best friend’s place; he had a pool, so the idea was to get the chicks loosey-goosey and into their bathing suits. From what I learned, those kids in Louisiana don’t drink like we did in Iowa. Before Midnight, he was missing, only to be found alone in a darken bathroom, silently passed out on the floor. He had also vomited all over himself and the bathroom, Vomit streaked down the walls, which also showed evidence of damage as he’d ripped down all the towel racks before blacking out.
As we lifted his drunken body and attempted to take him outside, our grip on him would slip from the slick vomit that covered his arms. We managed to get him into a wheelbarrow that we found in the garage. From there, we wheeled him next to a garden hose and cleaned him up with some cold tap water. He thrashed a bit, yet remained incoherent. We then found his car, drove him to his parents house, parked the car in the garage and left him there to suffer the consequences with his parents in the morning.
I remember thinking that his status within our little group had diminished because of the babysitting he put us through. And, I remember mentioning to him on several occasions to take it easy on the Everclear-fueled punch that we had concocted for the ladies.
But now I’m thinking that all the hassles encountered from mystery Delta boy’s drunken shenanigans were all worth it. I mean, fuck, the dude introduced me to the genius of Andy Partridge.Plus, it gave "Respectable Street" an familiar relevance.
Andy Partridge was born on November 10, 1953.
Photo by Dan Fellini