Good bye Friend
Well.
May 1, 2004 will always be a day of reflection… not just for me, but for many of my friends. It’s a day to remember, a day to wonder what might have been… and a day things changed.
Many years ago now, I shared a dream with three close friends. It’s a dream many young men have… to conqueror the world, to make our mark, to immortalize ourselves. To change the world, to be the centre of the party…hell, to BE the party! Our method of proof was to play music. We favoured the funky sounds of Parliament, the reggae grooves of Peter Tosh and Spearhead, the new ska sounds of Sublime, the heavy vibe of Rage Against the Machine and the hip hop and rap stylings of N.W.A. and countless other influences that are lost to me now.
We called ourselves Bonafide, and we had a plan. We’d write the best music we could, we’d hone our sound and playing by jamming five nights a week, we’d perfect our image and take pictures and make a CD and tour. It seemed so simple when I was 23. Funny thing is, real life has a habit of catching up with our fantasies, and when I turned 26 and the band was ready to move off of tiny Quadra Island for the big time challenges of Vancouver, I had to quit. I have my reasons, my daughter just turned 1, I had just been married that August. I had a family to think about… but it meant leaving my … other family.
Bonafide was a family. We seemed to do everything together. I really don’t think I’ll ever experience a band like that again. Don’t get me wrong, I’d like to… but I can’t help but believe that Bonafide was special. When I left, the other guys were pretty hurt. I was the organizational leader, the musical conductor. Each guy had a specialized role in the band, each one as important as the next…but when I left it cut off an arm, a leg, a piece of the brain. The feelings between us were strained, and it was painful. As time wore us down, we forgave each other… because the love, no matter how deep the pain, was stronger. At least, that’s what I’d like to believe.
A few times over the years, we all played together, but I don’t think we ever had a time when the four of us played again. We never will.
Joe Skogan was our guitarist, he had the strongest voice when it came to deciding upon musical ideas and direction. In many ways, he was the spiritual leader… we looked to him for advice on our look, our sound, our style. He was very well read, he listened to new, cool, exciting music. Before it was cool to be a laid back, in the pocket style player on the guitar, he was honing those very skills. His voice, when we could get him to sing, was magic. Each of us loved to sing, but had our unique challenges, and Joe could just open his mouth and have a tone that felt perfect. I admired him. I’d go to his place, sit on the couch, and we’d listen to music…without speaking a word. I don’t know what was going through his mind, but for me it was comfort. I love to talk… but I could hang with Joe and not feel like I had to… even though I often did anyways! Joe was a great guy… but I’m not so sure Joe knew this. I listened to every single note he played when we performed and jammed. I can recall many a gig where he’d turn, and look at me…doubting his performance. I’d yell at him “dude…you’re ripping it up!!” He could sit in the pocket, skanking on a chord… playing his guitar like it was a drum. I loved that. He also had a sublime, and occasionally mean sense of humour… and I loved that too!! Bonafide loved pranking any member that dared to not show up for practice!
On April 30, 2004, I was playing bass with a local band at the Heriot Bay Inn. Joe was there, and honestly, it made the evening and my performance far more important to me. He asked me to play a song for him… The White Stripes “Seven Nation Army”. The band didn’t know it, but before the set started, I played the opening riff on the bass. From around the corner, I heard an uncharacteristic “whhhooooaaaaa!!!!” from Joe. It made me smile. I didn’t realize it then, but I loved that guy. It made me happy to give him…something.
Prior to this evening, we had started writing some songs together, and posted two on Songfight. I had thought that a band with him and whomever was in the makings… sadly, I was cautious, and wanted to take it slow. If this sounds like someone getting back together with a girlfriend…you are right! We seemed to click right away. I knew, I knew we could write good stuff…but I was afraid of my ideas being rejected… so I took it slow. One time, while jamming, (I was on the drums) he asked me, in a sad sounding voice… “Is that all you do now? Complicated weird stuff?” The answer was yes. It’s what turned me on musically.
At the end of that night in April, I was packing up my stuff. I went to the bathroom behind the bar…near a pool table. Joe was there when I came out. He told me the scene here was looking grim, too many people doing coke. He wanted to know if I wanted to go to a party with him… but I didn’t want to. He persisted, and was sad. I honestly thought he was sad because he was drunk…
I still said no. I knew I couldn’t keep up with them and would just end up falling asleep. I would’ve hung out with Joe, but these types of “parties” have never really been my scene. I asked him if he wanted to write more, and he said “yes”. I asked him to come by on Wednesday, and we’d write together. He said “sure man”. Then he left.
Could I have changed things? Who knows. Joe was sad. It’s virtually impossible to really know what goes on inside another person’s mind… simply listen to the words you use when you talk to people, and contrast that with your thoughts. Think about how a word can have a deep meaning for you, maybe one that can evoke a memory, and realize that for another human being… this word could mean so much more…so many different things. It’s rare for humans to refer to “dictionary definitions” and maintain a semantically correct conversation.
I want to believe that if I had gone, I would have stopped things. I would have saved him. I want to believe that when he was missing, for three years, that I could find him. That I could take away everyone’s pain…but my own. I am that kind of person.
The truth is… I am hurt by his lost. I miss him… just when I thought things would change, when we could start over, when the dream would be renewed…he was gone. I miss you man. You were a talent, you were a friend, you were a genuine soul. Take care. I love you.