<"Hinkley Had A Vision," The Crucifucks>
<Doc Dart works the crowd (Steve Shelley, rear),
The Dale, Akron, OH, 1982:
YouTube.com>
<i.>
If you spent any time in East Lansing music circles in the early or mid-'80s, you may have heard this song, at some point. If not, you probably heard of the band (The Crucifucks), or its perpetually wired 'n' weird frontman, Doc Dart, the man behind those provocative lyrics.
The name practically guaranteed struggles in booking gigs, and creative billing workarounds on flyers (such as "Christmas Folks"). Airplay on college radio stations -- the most receptive outlets for music that didn't suit mainstream tastes -- was also often out of the question. Nowadays, if you hear their name invoked, it's some sort of punk historiy name-check (typicaly, as the pre-Sonic Youth entry on drummer Steve Shelley's resume).
I remember that era well. For diehard fans, Doc Dart came across like a punked-out Jim Morrison -- constantly duking it out with cops, promoters, and other dodgy authority figures, when he wasn't getting busted for petty offenses, and pushing the envelope of whatever the Greater Lansing gatekeepers deemed as the acceptable face of its music scene (mainly, crappy cover bands, whose career highlights amounted to: "I supported so-and-so when they came to town").
"Hinkley Had A Vision," from the band's 1985 self-titled debut album, typifies Doc's fiercely confrontational stance -- screw Christianity, screw the government, screw the military, screw those slam pit party crashers -- driven along by his nails-on-a-chalkboard vocal style.
The song equates the delusions of winning actress Jodie Foster's love -- which Hinckley cited as his motive to shoot Reagan, and three others -- with the fallacies of organized religion, as Doc sees them ("Aw, teach me how to pray, good Christian/If it works, you'll all be dead"). One man's craziness is another man's vision, and vice versa, Doc suggests. And we don't always get to pick and choose whose vision makes better sense.
Curiously, the song misspells Hinckley's name, but no matter; we all know who's referenced here. Such is the power that notoriety confers on those who seek it.
<John Hinckley's FBI mugshot>
<ii.>
By the time "Hinkley Had A Vision" came out, it seemed hard to foresee any other future for its subject, other than permanent confinement in a psychiatric hospital, once a jury deemed him not guilty by reason of insanity. By then, his surname had become a lightning rod, as viewers of "The Greatest American Hero" learned, in 1981 -- when its title character's name morphed from Ralph Hinkley, to Hanley, and back at warp speed, with no explanation offered (nor required, perhaps).
Given all those unsavory connotations, the notion of Hinckley winning his freedom after 41 years of institutional living would have struck most people as bizarre, or downright absurd. But that's what happened in June, when a federal judge ordered his unconditional release. By then, Hinckley had won the right to release music and artwork publicly -- an opportunity he's maximizing to its fullest, now that he's finally a free man again.
So far, that freedom has brought mixed results. On one hand, he's living every artist's dream. Asbestos Records, an independent punk and ska label, plans to release a vinyl album of his music (though I don't see it posted on their website yet). He's planning to start a label (Emporia Records), and has staked out a presence on Spotify, and Twitter. Like any good record mogul, John Hinckley covers all the bases.
On the other hand, Hinckley's attempts to promote his music live have foundered, amid the usual, predictable barrage of death threats, public outrage, and security issues. John Hinckley's Redemption Tour seems fated to end up like Bill Cosby's Victory Lap Post-Courtroom Comedy Tour, as in, not coming to a town near you, and more than likely, never. Even infamy has its limits, it seems.
The response from from one of the venues (Market Hotel: Brooklyn, NY) that scratched Hinckley's live debut is unintentionally revealing, and hilarious, at the same time:
“It is not worth the gamble on the safety of our vulnerable communities to give a guy a microphone and a paycheck from his art who hasn’t had to earn it, who we don’t care about on an artistic level, and who upsets people in a dangerously radicalized, reactionary climate.”
Fine. If you don't care about him artistically, and security's such a hassle, why give him a stage in the first place? Well, you know the old joke about promoters, right? They'd sell tickets to their grandmother's cremation, if they could get away with it. Enough said on that one.
Such unforgiving scrutiny leaves Hinckley in a curious nether position. His marquee value stems from his outlaw status, not anything that he's achieved in his own right, an opportunity that decades of confinement understandably denied him. Yet his hopes of being judged solely for his musical merits ("I'm trying not to dwell on the past") seem like wishful thinking, given how he gained our attention in the first place. His output is outsider art, in the truest sense of the term.
All the rosy digital statistics can't paper over that reality, At 52,500 followers on Twitter, 30,600 subscribers on YouTube, and 15,000 listeners per month on Spotify, Hinckley's numbers are certainly impressive. Yet Hinckley doesn't follow anybody on Twitter, nor does he ever respond to the numerous comments that pepper his many YouTube videos.
It's a curious omission for a newly-minted artist who talks so earnestly of wanting to uplift others through his music ("In a lot of ways, I’m just like them, the person that’s listening to the song"). Security and liability reasons may be prompting this non-response, but it's hard to imagine Hinckley changing people's perceptions, without letting them into his world -- if only for a little bit. Otherwise, he'll have to accept a fanbase consisting mainly of curiosity seekers, looky-loos and rubberneckers as the price of continuing his career, however he defines it.
<John Hinckley: The one-man band today,
on his YouTube channel:
"Hope For The Future">
<iii.>
With all that being said, is John Hinckley's music actually worth a listen? That depends on what you're expecting. Now that he's back among us, Hinckley has a vision: one guy and his guitar, channeling the musical influences of his teen years, Bob Dylan, and the Beatles. (Though I don't see them on his YouTube channel, he's apparently also done a couple of tracks with a band -- wonder how that blind ad read.)
He's got a major yen for Elvis Presley, too, judging by the covers he's posted on his channel ("Can't Help Falling In Love," "Don't Be Cruel," garnering 34,000 and 27,000 views, respectively). I didn't mind those so much -- it's hard to do a bad job with anything from the King, as long as you pay attention to the basics, which Hinckley does. His affinity for Dylan also shines through on his version of "Mr. Tambourine Man." At 40,963 views, it's the blockbuster attraction of his channel so far, which makes sense.
No surprises there. Many troubadours, including Yer Humble Narrator, include covers to draw listeners. So how do Hinckley's originals stack up? Well, let's just say, I'm not hearing any classics yet. The overall effect comes across as what you'd hear from some standard issue folk-rock strummer at a coffee shop on Saturday night.
"Hello, everybody, hope you're doing great," Hinckley kicks off a video for one of his latest efforts, "Can't We Just Get Along?" "I'd just like to say, I now have 18 songs of mine, on the music streaming sites (which he then rattles off). So check out my 18 songs on the music streaming sites. Right now, I wanna do another original song of mine."
It's the kind of aside you'd hear from that '70s-era coffee shop strummer's Millennial offspring ("Hey, guys, this song's about looking at the gutter and the stars! Check it out now, at coffeeshopstrummer.com"). But it's one sorely lacking in the mannerisms that any performer needs to genuinely connect with an audience. The overall combo of flat affect and purely promo-driven spiel makes the connection an even bigger stretch.
And that's before he launches into his earnest plea ("Well, I don't know what's wrong with this world, I wanna see some love/Can't we get along, all day long? Think it's time we do"). It's an odd request, again, considering the events that landed him behind those four walls, but I digress. The riffing and strumming patterns bear a distinctive Dylan imprint, though the overall lyrical muse seems closer to Dr. Seuss.
Those same tendencies persist throughout several other clips, such as "You And I Are Free" ("That makes 26 songs of mine on the streaming sites, so check 'em out, when you have a chance"), or "Unlock Your Heart" ("Listen, everybody, if anybody knows of a record label that would put my music out on vinyl, let me know").
The best of his efforts, "Don't Give Up On Innocence" ("I remember the hopes that I had before/One by one, they were booted out the door"), and "Hope For The Future" ("I have seen so many ups and downs, survivin' through the years"), mine a more Beatle-y vein, with subtle nods to the demons that drove Hinckley's past. When Hinckley sings, "I am just a guy/Who made it through the rain" ("We Are Drifting On The Sea"), suddenly, it's easy to believe him, and his whole shtick seems less of a stretch, at least for a time.
<The unlikely becomes likely: Doc Dart
announces his upstart bid for Mayor of Lansing, 1989:
Lansing State Journal>
<iv.>
So what kinds of connections is John Hinckley making, exactly? That's hard to say. Judging from my deep dive through his YouTube channel, he hasn't allowed any comments on it for about a year. When he did, the responses ranged from tasteless cracks ("This guy makes bangers, and one went into Ronald Reagan"), to snide sarcasm ("He should share his music with Jodie Foster"), to gushing fanboy guff ("You're an American hero. Your songs make me cry, but smile. You're [sic] proof redemption works").
Huh? Say what? Actually, the heroes of Reagan's near-assassination on March 30, 1981, were Secret Service agent Tim McCarthy, who caught a bullet in his chest, and Washington, DC police officer Tom Delahanty, who took a bullet apiece to his neck, and spine. Not the guy who took such great care to load his sidearm with six Devastator slugs -- designed to explode to contact -- of the same type that left Press Secretary Jim Brady with permanent disabilities.
With Hinckley beyond any further legal retribution, his detractors are left to curse his rock 'n' roll dreams as the stuff of mere blood money, since he's essentially using his notoriety to drive them. In all fairness, though, could you imagine him pumping gas, or stocking the shelves at Costco? Who would ever hire him, or look over his resume? (Cue the sound of crickets chirping.) I thought so.
It's also worth recalling why Hinckley fought so hard to release music and art under his own name, a reason that does come down to money. At 67, Hinckley's Social Security check is his only regular income, so whatever cash he can find to supplement it would undoubtedly feel most welcome.
In some ways, Hinckley is fortunate that he wasn't released sooner. Otherwise, he might have wound up stranded without a job, or other support, except that of his parents and their basement -- figuratively, and literally. It's the premise of "Get A Life" large, minus the baggage that dogs would-be Presidential assassins.
<The ever-elusive cassette:
"Black Tuesday," Doc Dart's
unreleased solo album, 1991:
YouTube screen grab>
<v.>
Just where does this examination leave us? Let's circle back to the man who wrote that song, "Hinkley Had A Vision." Doc Dart's muse has remained quiet since his last release, The Messiah (Crustacean Records: 2006), released under the monicker of 26. That handle comes from a lyric in "By The Door," off the Crucifucks' first, self-titled album ("The little hand is on the two/Now the big hand is pointing at you!/What time is that?"). I assume that his current hiatus stems from his well-documented, lifelong struggles with depression and mental illness.
Still, it's a crying shame that Doc Dart remains largely unknown and unheard, beyond devotees of '80s hardcore, and his folkier, poppier, yet equally intense solo albums, Patricia (Alternative Tentacles: 1990) -- named for the therapist who treated him -- and Black Tuesday (1991), intended as the follow-up. However, Alternative Tentacles rejected it, leaving Doc to pass out 100 cassette copies to friends and allies. That was far as it went, so good luck finding any of those original cassettes anywhere.
However, you can find Black Tuesday, plus Doc's other solo efforts, and the usual live bits and pieces -- easily enough on YouTube. Having heard it, it strikes me as an amazing piece of work, one that should be out now, not languishing in somebody's drawer somewhere. But don't take my word for it. Check out the link below, and hear it for yourself.
To me, it's telling that much of Hinckley's core audience are Millennials who weren't even around when he first lost his freedom. Is it unfiar to compare his cod philosophizing and coffeeshop strumming with works like Patricia, or Black Tuesday? I don't think so. I know which ones I'll end up playing more, who's the greater talent, and who deserves a wider audience.
Listening to Black Tuesday for the first time left me pondering the similarities and differences between these two men. Both were born just two years apart in the 1950s. Both came from privileged backgrounds and wealthy families, where money and resources were never an issue. Yet both also ended up estranged from their families, and struggled with a lengthy trail of failed relationships, mental issues, and hit or miss career prospects.
One major difference separates them, though. Shooting Reagan earned Hinckley earned a niche in criminal history that he can never erase. It's also one that allows him to bypass much of the heavy lifting -- of booking shows, building fanbases, and so on, sight unseen -- that other artists have to do. So how do we ever separate the assassin from the artist? As leaps of faith go, this one feels a bit heavier than most.
A longtime friend of mine said as much, in discussing Charles Manson's creative efforts. Once he popped the million dollar question ("So what sort of music does a murderous cult leader make?"), the answers didn't feel sufficient enough to hold his interest over the long run, and he eventually moved on from it.
Countless listeners, I suspect, have drawn similar conclusions about Manson's music and writings, leaving them to occupy the same head space inhabited by other problematic works -- like Gacy's clown paintings, Goebbels's unfinished novel, or Hitler's emotionally arid, overly precise artwork. How many of Hinckley's current fans will care about the guy five, 10 or 20 years from now? Is morbid curiosity enough to sustain a career? Somehow, I doubt it. Time will tell.
Better yet, let's rephrase the question. Would anybody care as much about Hinckley's art and music, without all the macabre baggage surrounding it? The answer seems obvious. When all's said and done, once the dust finally settles, the notoriety that gave Hinckley the floor will also probably end up being his ceiling. --The Reckoner
Links To Go (Not For Hinckley:
He Can Do His Own PR, Thanks):
Doc Corbin Dart: Black Tuesday:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=htS0S5xmKNk
Jangle Pop Hub: Album Review:
Patricia: By Doc Corbin Dart (1990):
https://janglepophub.home.blog/2019/04/18/album-review-patricia-by-doc-corbin-dart-1990-alternative-tentacles/
Mark Prindle's Record Reviews:
http://markprindle.com/dart.htm
3AM : Please Give Me Orders:
Doc Dart Interviewed By John Szupnar:
https://www.3ammagazine.com/3am/please-give-me-orders/
VICE.com: The Troublemaker:
https://www.vice.com/en/article/gqdgxj/the-troublemakers-515-v16n1
