G. G. ALLIN
Hï¿½MPHRÊ¥ J. ï¿½ï¿½GHÜ®T
(with snotty comments in parenthesis by me,of course.)
Updated October 2004 in RED
It was going to be the most spectacular and terrifying rock nroll show of all time…
GG Allin always maintained that he would commitsuicide onstage, promising to take as many of his fans with him as he could! A’typical’ GG show could be likened to a war zone, with GG brawling with fans,bashing himself senseless and knocking out his own teeth with the microphone,and both eating his own shit (ugh) and throwing it at the audience (TAXI!). Infact, GG was arrested over 50 times over the course of his career for suchcrimes as indecent exposure, assault and battery and endangering the lives ofhis audience He spent a lot of time in jail cells and of course in hospitalemergency rooms. However his death was to be least spectacular thing about hislife of punk rock excess.
GG Allin’s final performance was at the Gas Station club, NewYork in 1993,and the rumor is that he’d already taken a shed load of drugsbefore the actual show commenced. As things got under way, GG took a few swingsat members of the audience and the show seemed to be going (typically) well.However, having completed the second song, the power was switched off and theshow came to an abrupt end. Not being the most reasonable person in the world,GG went a little nuts and started to smash the place up (but he was so nice…)he crashed his head through a French window and generally abused and punchedanyone that came close to hand. He soon tired of this and decided to leave theclub in order to go and party at Johnny Puke’s apartment. He left the club andwalked through the streets of New York, naked and covered in shit and blood. Ashe marched through the street, his fans followed along behind him, overturningtrashcans and throwing bottles at cop cars… A mini riot ensued, withcarsscreeching to a halt as GG and his entourage staggered out into traffic.Finally, after some half an hour of this street theatre of the bizarre, GG andfriends managed to hail a cab and get to Johnny Puke’s apartment to carry onwith the festivities.
Back at Johnny’s Place, the party was in full swing with drugsand booze flowing freely in all directions. GG was in a buoyant mood again andwas snorting heroin with abandon (tra la! tra la!)… As he passed out, peoplewere grabbing him and posing for pictures with him, propped up with his armsaround them. As the night wore on, people were tiring and crashing out, but GGAllin was already too far gone and died surrounded by the oblivious sleepingbodies of his friends. He was 36 years old. At first, people refused to believethat GG Allin could be dead…after all, he’d survived drug overdoses in thepast…he’d also endured beatings, stabbings, blood poisoning several times andhad always bounced back. But the truth sank in as the police came and then theambulance took him away.
After all the promises of the ultimate sacrifice for Rock NRoll, GG Allin died the usual junkie’s death. I am sure that he would have beenreal angry at himself for dying in that way.
G.G.’s funeral took place on July 3rd1993 in his native New Hampshire, at the St. Rose Cemetery, Littleton.
His wake was attended by his band mates, (including hisbrother, Merle) and various friends and hangers on. GG was laid out in an opencasket, wearing his trademark leather jacket, dog collar, jockstrap, sneakers and a pair of “GeorgeJetson” socks! He was not the sweetest smelling man in life, but in death, he had astrange scent, mixing flowers, feces, sweat, piss and whiskey. On his brother’sinstructions, the funeral director did not wash or put make up on the corpse. Ashe was in life, so he was in death. (thisis kinda gross, but here he is, in all his glory.)
G.G.’s wake turned into quite a party with people puttingdrugs into his mouth and washing them down with slugs of Jim Beam… Once again,people were having their pictures taken with the lifeless GG and pulling hisjockstrap down to gawp at his incredibly small penis…and of course, to takepictures of it! (lovely.)
The last studio album that GG recorded with his band The Murder Junkies, wasplaying all the while in the background. Finally, as his casket was closed forthe last time, his brother put a pair of headphones on GG playing some loud andtuneless music called “the suicide sessions”, that he’d recorded a fewyears previously. A fitting showstopper for a man that so desperately wanted todie!
His gravesite has become a place of pilgrimage for many of hisfans where they come to get drunk and leave drugs and various bodily fluids inmemory of the filthiest pervert that ever hit the Rock n Roll stage! I am surethat we shall not see the like of GG Allin again. The void left in the wake ofhis death will never be filled.
Thank you Humphrey.
This in from Findadeath.comfriend Vince Scheben:
October 2004 – Findadeath was mentioned in the Long Island Press over last weekend. In the article, it mentions G. G. Allin and his feces flinging fun, and it caught the eye of new findadeath.com friend Jim Maloney. He writes: I was a paramedic working full-time for Saint Vincentï¿½s Hospital in Manhattan and going to Fordham Law School at night. Even though it was summer, I was taking night classes because at the end of 1992 I had been burned out of my apartment at 16 West 95th Street and had been diagnosed with testicular cancer, so I had missed a semester of law school getting relocated and irradiated (kind of like simulation training for nuclear war), and was making up part of the lost semester by taking a 4-credit Constitutional Law class that summer. The course was waking me up to a lot of injustice. Also, two weeks earlier, Saint Vincentï¿½s had changed our uniforms, making us dress up in blue like cops, which I hated and had protested on the basis that it made us potential targets. I was in an ongoing battle with management over that. I was pissed off.
June 28 was a Monday. I was working a 7-3 tour with John Filangeri, a senior medic who had been on many high-profile calls like the Bernie Goetz shootings and the Joel Steinberg case. A call came in for an “unconscious, possible DOA” on the Lower East Side, and we went. I think it was a walkup, maybe the second floor. In a room that was brightly lit from a big window, a dead guy was lying on the floor. I vaguely recall that he was wearing a black leather jacket and not much else. It was an easy determination, as he had obviously been “down” for some time. No rigor yet, but he was already getting cold, and was beyond any attempt at resuscitation. After we pronounced, the cops stayed and waited for a basic unit to transport. Paramedics do not haul stiffs.
Later in the ER that day, I learned who G.G. Allin was. One of the nurses, Mary Malet, who also happened to be a lawyer and was active in the music business, told me about his on-stage antics. The feces-tossing thing seemed to be what everyone remembered. A claim to fame from a bit of shit.