It's important to honor your heroes. I have a perennial habit of forgetting. I'm the guy who slaps his head on September 20th and puts on Electric Ladyland with a mournful mood, or watches Superman I and gets a little teary on October 12th. It's a habit I'm trying to break, with little success.
On February 26, 1993, Bill Hicks died, and the world got a little heavier.
Hicks was arguably one of the greatest comedians who ever lived. He is of the pantheon. If Dane Cook is the Jon Bon Jovi of rock star comedy, then Bill Hicks was its Jimi Hendrix: an artistic genius who died too soon.
Bill Hicks was a Texan who emulated the best gunslingers western lore had to offer. He wanted to be the figure dressed in dusty black that strode into town, spurs clinking and heels thudding, and fixed everything. His acts blurred the line between John Wayne with his lawmaker and the comic with his truths. This was never more apparent than in his 1992 performance Revelations, when he strode onstage in dusty black and tried to change the world.
He was a polarizing comic, however. Some of his acts are almost physically distressing in their freakishly graphic, intensely vitriolic diatribes. He was also, for a time, what could only be called a devoted drug enthusiast and a borderline alcoholic who once verbally abused a crowd to the point where he was beaten after the show by a pair of Vietnam veterans, who broke his ankle and one of his ribs.
My father has a low opinion of the man. He had the misfortune of listening on Hicks-virginal ears to a bit wherein Hicks speaks very eloquently in the voice of a pedophile about a little girl's genitals. I won't lie -- sometimes, Hicks got too angry and vicious to listen to. He was famous for saying, "I don't mean to sound bitter, cold and cruel, but I am, so that's how it comes out."
He was also one of the purest optimists that I've ever heard speak. He truly believed that all people are fundamentally good at heart, and that the world is a harsh, f**ked-up place that tries to make good people bad with evil things. His comedy was his way of showing the world the evil things that would hurt them if given the chance.
Bill Hicks was diagnosed in June 1993 with liver cancer, which spread from an originating point in his pancreas. This is a strong lesson on moderation in hallucination. He began chemotherapy, receiving treatment once a week, and kept touring. His message would be his only legacy, and like the gunslinger he aspired to be, he wanted to go out shooting.
The comedian had stopped taking drugs in 1988, but remained quite happy at having taken them. He was quite fond of saying, "I had a great time on drugs. Never murdered anyone, never raped anyone, never robbed anyone, laughed my ass off, and went about my day." He advocated drugs, specifically hallucinogens, as a way to instantly reach a state of perfect happiness where spiritual epiphany was always only a breath away.
"Today a young man on acid realized that all matter is merely energy condensed to a slow vibration, that we are all one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively, there is no such thing as death, life is only a dream and we are the imagination of ourselves. Here's Tom with the weather."
In Revelations, Hicks made what could be viewed as his final statement to the world. Still clad in the accoutrement of the gunslinger, he told the audience that we always kill the good guys and let the demons run amok. He said, "[Life is] just a ride and we can change it any time we want. It's only a choice.
"No effort, no work, no job, no savings and money, a choice, right now, between fear and love. The eyes of fear want you to put bigger locks on your door, buy guns, close yourself off. The eyes of love instead see all of us as one. Here's what we can do to change the world, to a better ride.
"Take all the money we spend on weapons and defense each year, and instead spend it feeding, clothing and educating the poor of the world, which it would many times over, not one human being excluded, and we can explore space together, for ever, in peace." Then, amidst the applause, he fell to the floor, miming assassination.
Less than four months later, he was dead.
Bill Hicks is one of my heroes. More than anything, he taught me that you can be angry, enraged even, at what the world is and is becoming, and still have the greatest faith in what humanity could be. For that, I am grateful.
Photo: Courtesy of Laron Fomby
