Following last spring's two nights of Pure Sunshine, fundraising gigs for my brother Rick's twin boys, organized, headed and performed by Denver's finest musicians and promoters, most of whom have relocated and come back multiple times to lend the hand only they could lend, the enterprise has turned a welcome corner: no longer a wake in my brother's memory, these shows have become a celebration of their love for him. Rick's good friends from Seattle, the fellas who make up Mudhoney, graced us on January 6th for another fundraising effort.
Mark Arm. And let me put it out there: most of these pix have been lifted from the online review of the show ran by Westword magazine, a Denver alternative paper that has always had Rick's name in its pages; I love how he's continually remembered by them in such a reverential way...and love how the members of Mudhoney, rock 'n rollers with wedding rings and kids and respectable day jobs and everything, came down to Denver to play this gig, particularly when a couple of them had to be at work the next day in Washington. A fun aside to all so inclined: late in the set Mudhoney they were joined briefly by the Dead Kennedys’ Jello Biafra for a cover of The Dicks’ “Hate the Police.”
John Robinson, frontman, The Fluid. Rick's comrades threw down quite the show - in the last few years they've reunited a handful of times to the extreme delight of Denverites who, when Rick was with us, used to view it as a way to gauge the passing of time and as a means of recapturing a period they'd largely left behind in the pursuit of life, for lack of a better word - nowadays you could just call it a bittersweet reunion of folks who've walked a similar path and who each year find less and less of their peers with which to share the memories. They get better and better every time they take the stage, though without Rick on guitar...well, I won't go there. Good friend Arnie Beckman did the honors, and more than capably. But.
Richard and Orrie, Purple Fluid. There's a lot of manic energy around the Kulwicki house before a gig; and mom will attest at the amount of head-bashing that accompany all rehearsals before a show. It keeps them focused, I think, and makes these get-togethers do-able for them; a distraction. But a good one. I love everyone's 'chip-off-the-old-block' comments, you can see how much it means to them.
I couldn't swear that I know what Rick's up to these days - I know he's busy - but on nights like these, I know where he is.
Other attendees don't seem to know what I know, late nights in the darkened Bluebird theater, but it is what it is. That's why I cry: not just because of the love these people have for him, not just because they're doing what they know how to do to support his kids, not just because their generosity completely trumps a casserole or a quilt or a well-meaning phone call. Largely because Rick loves them, has always loved them, and I know that even if they're not exactly having a scripture chase this Friday night, their offering is seen of God and accepted by Him. It's humbling.
Never having met the fellas from Mudhoney before tonight, we wanted to thank them personally for this gift, and so stayed up until 2 a.m. to do so. Not as young as I used to be, and I'm the youngest of the original Kulwicki nuclear family. It nearly killed all of us. But as I've been fond of saying the last year or so: what a treat, to meet all of these people who have been a second family for Rick and his boys, people of whom, for the most part, we had no real knowledge. To be reassured that for all of these years, Rick was in good hands, and they, having been in his orbit, were in good hands as well. The best hands.
