R.I.P. Vic Chesnutt

Sad sad news on the doorstep of my computer this morning: Vic Chesnutt has died. With a voice like a wobbly table and the most whimsical, unsparing, and courageous lyrical chops around, Vic, it seems, was an acquired taste--hard to tell by me, though, since I acquired that taste in cravings when I first heard him nearly twenty years ago. He had the greatest, most wide-ranging vocabulary of any songwriter I've ever encountered.

I saw him only once, many years ago, opening for Bob Mould to a large, rather indifferent then nearly hostile crowd. I remember shouting out a request for his song "Danny Carlisle," and he made some remark about there being at least one person in the audience who knew his songs. Later that night I was leaving the men's room when Vic rolled in in his wheelchair. I was a bit jarred. Here was one of my heroes alone, but I also thought, does the guy need help in the bathroom some way? So I lingered, told him what a great performance he gave, and then mentioned how I had once taught the book A Confederacy of Dunces, whose main character Vic sings about in his song "Mr. Reilly." We then had a rather disjointed conversation about John Kennedy Toole's novel in the cramped, ratty bathroom, as Vic managed to get the job done of going about his business.

My life's richer for all the hours I've spent listening to Vic Chesnutt.

Vic Chesnutt-Steve Willoughby

Vic Chesnutt-Wrong Piano