the bob and i
there are three things i try to avoid at all costs. extreme cold, large crowds of people, and loud noise. so going to a sold out show at metro, on a freezing march night, to see the bob mould band play was a verifiable triple threat. an added bonus is the inaccessibility of metro. being carried up and down three flights of winding stairs three times in a wheelchair isn’t as fun as it looks. although i give metro and their staff credit for making it work. but i was determined to be there on the invitation of an old friend. a friend who has been there for me many times before. and after all, i was there to see the bob.
bob mould conveniently divides music listeners into three distinct categories. those who appreciate his gifts, those who have never heard his music, and those who have no taste. that may sound extreme, but even my late grandmother Florence who grew up in the cornfields of valporaiso, Indiana before the great depression would be hard pressed not to find something she liked on the addictive and hypnotic album, workbook. that’s some serious range from a man who can find a tune in a jack-hammer.
i was first introduced to the music of bob mould by my roommate in the early ninetees. he used to play workbook in its entirety over and over again. here he is playing wishing well.
for those of you who love bob, yes, that skinny, pasty kid is bob mould band bass player Jason narducy. i shot that video in our massive apartment on Chicago’s north side. Jason was devoted to bob like many of those folks were devoted to Jim Jones. i remember when Jason told me he had met bob at metro. a story bob recounts on his new dvd. i couldn’t understand how he had the balls to walk up to his hero and establish a relationship without coming off like an idiot. but Jason knew his place in the world from a very young age. it wasn’t confidence as much as it was just being himself.
Jason and i met many years earlier on a street-corner in southeast Evanston where we both grew up. i was playing catch with my friend adam caldarelli when Jason rode by on his banana seat bike. Adam said, hey that’s Jason narducy, then for reasons i never understood threw the ball into his spokes and knocked him to the ground. Jason swears he doesn’t remember this. maybe he blocked it out. a few months later i saw him play at the Unitarian church with his pre teen punk quartet verboten. that means forbidden in German.it was the early eighties, the height of the cold war. he was punk, i was preppie.
the next time we met was in the back of Mr. eddys junior year history class. we quickly forged a bond of shared interest in Napoleon, the who, and cases of Milwaukees best sold at walgreens for 4.79. you can do the math.
our friendship grew through college and into our fledgling careers. although mine was much more fledgling than his. i wasn’t doing vaudeville at ten, the theatrical equivalent to his verboten days, if there is one. we were chasing after the same dream, to be professional artists on our own terms. and because i can’t sing, and Jason can’t act, write, direct, make films, impersonate Elvis like me, or do a bunch of other random things ive hobbled together to make something of a career for myself, we never had the underlying jealousy that can infect friendships among artists. his successes were mine. mine were his. so when he met bob, it was like i met him too. it was probably the same for all our friends. our boy was gonna be a rock star.
ten years later i was diagnosed with als. a shitty disease that tastes like shit. Jason and i were business partners at the time, running a house painting company. he was the first person outside of my immediate family that i told. those days and the months that followed are foggy, slow motion movies playing in my head. i can’t remember much about that time that has any clarity. but i remember Jason was there for me. and i remember him and i going out for ice cream.
in the spring Jason called me one day to end our business partnership. i had been asleep at the wheel for too long. he couldn’t do it alone, he said. i wasn’t pulling my weight. in just a few months i had lost my health, my marriage and my business. now i see clearly the dilemma he faced, how difficult that was for him, and why he did what he did. at the time i was blinded by anger and self preservation. we didn’t talk for close to a year. as i said, it’s a shitty disease that tastes like shit.
just after Jason broke off our partnership, i had an epiphany that would change my entire existence. at home, with no job, only my son to worry about, and lots and lots of time on my hands, i decided to make a film about my new shitty life. that decision led me down a remarkable journey of self discovery and artistic exploration. it also added years to my life. anyone who doubts the healing power of art is an idiot, or gravely misinformed. Jason dumping me was one of the best favors ive ever received.
we reconnected the next spring at my sons birthday party . i couldn’t be angry anymore. life is too short. it was an important step for both of us to find our friendship in the midst of the storm, like boats drifting in the fog.
in September Jason came with me to the world film festival in Montreal. he dressed me, bathed me, fed me, typed for me, spoke for me, pushed me all over town and up many hills, changed a tire on my wheelchair, got me a photo with Angelina jolies dad and wiped my ass daily.
als automatically separates the men from the boys, and the women from the girls. it is the ultimate qualifier. it is death, destruction and fate all rolled into one hellacious disease. it is not fun, for me, my family or my friends. it is easy to walk away and many people have disappeared from my life like a rat in a hole. some people want to be my friend because they think it is the right thing to do. as if i am a charity case looking for someone to patronize me with their presence. both groups, those who leave, and those who come because of a disease do the greatest injustice to themselves and to me. we are all one step away from losing everything. just one gene, one car ride, one bad day. staying in the fight, staying present. and engaging on a deep level that sheds the weight of disability, disease or physicality is crucial to our growth as truly compassionate people. it is what connects us, and makes us human. but don’t misinterpret this as a plea for more friends. i already have several. and one is a fucking rock star.
side note. i am not a bob fanatic. i am a fan. but i am forever indebted to bob mould for setting an example for independent artists staying true to their vision. artists like bob, and they are few and far between, show us mere mortals that you can make music, films, books, paintings or whatever with purpose and clarity guided by your own voice. thanks bob.
ben byer is a filmmaker, father and als survivor.
the ben and the bob