"I'm Bill Hicks and I'm dead now"
I never got to see him. You know? The year I moved down to London, he was doing that night at the Palladium. I'd seen his stuff before and heard "Dangerous" - God, I desperately wanted to go, to see this impassioned, muscularly funny performer. Except I was on the dole at the time, so I thought "Well, next time".
Channel 4 did a TV documentary about him just after he had died - you now get it before the Palladium gig if you buy "Totally". You could see the grief and horror in people's faces. They made the documentary way too soon.
To people who aren't Hicks fans it seems bizarre to invest so much personal emotion in someone who ultimately.. I don't know. The guy was a stand up comedian. He told jokes. Sometimes he went so far down the garden path he had difficulty finding his way back, but he said what he believed in and nine times out of ten he was right. I mean, sure he took the piss out of rednecks and hicks but I think he did it out of genuine anger that people were brought up to be stupid. The whole "Whatcha reading fo?" piece wasn't aimed at the character in the gag really, it was aimed at low life expectations.
He had a special kind of energy and told gags like no one I've seen before or since. The only person I can compare with him on a good day is Simon Munnery or Richard Pryor's young stuff - and Simon's not doing as much or as well as he should be anymore so… well, that's that.
When you find a Hicks fan and talk about him, the level of "upset-ness" is ludicrous, but uh, he had a habit of telling excruciating home truths that other male comedians would either skirt over or tell in an impossibly crass fashion. With Bill, there was the level which was "I am performing this and have really thought out the way I'm going to choreograph my telling of it", but then there was the defiant "Look, here is my heart, I've ripped it out and put it on display for you. Here, look at it really close up so it makes you uncomfortable. You think I like doing this? Well, you're wrong, but I don't know how else I can get it across so FUCK YOU".
Someone I knew once had, well that is to say, they were looking after him on one occasion in Edinburgh and they said he was very sweet, entertaining and depressed about everything. Just the right recipe for any thinking woman to want to comfort the perceived lovely-screwed-up-bloke. Hey, maybe he was just doing a ploy… would I put it past him? Probably not.
What do you mean, was it me? No - but sheesh, if you asked me if I ever fancied him in a 'you're famous, damn, but... I can't help but find your brain attractive, does that make me a teenybopper?' type way I would have to run away citing late appointments before I started incriminating myself further.