Insect Philosophy: My Life-Changing Encounters with Jonathan Richman

 

As you (hopefully) just read, I have a thing about not killing flies or any other insects (with the exception of killer wasps when they’re on the attack). That philosophy was decidedly strengthened from a memorable encounter with musical legend Jonathan Richman. He of Jonathan Richman and the Modern Lovers fame. The guy who sang in a tree at the start of the movie ‘Crazy About Mary’. An influencer of the punk rock movement. OK, if you’re still scratching your head, just look him up on Wikipedia.

 

Anyway, picture this: I was about 16 years old, sitting around with some friends in a real dive of a bar that doubled as a music venue (fake IDs were cheap then). The live bands hadn’t yet started but songs were playing over the music system. No one was on the dance floor except for one strange-looking skinny guy with a nearly bald head who was not dancing, but swaying and swirling out of time to the music, lost in his own universe. 

 

Imagine my amazement when, after the first band set up onstage, this same misfit hopped up onto the stage. What followed was music of a kind no one in the audience had ever heard before. Not quite rock, not quite folk, not quite swing, definitely not blues – but something entirely different. With a vocal style that was more talk than song, and a beat that was more stop-and-go than rhythmic. It was pure, unadulterated Jonathan Richman.

 

I don’t think anyone moved during Jonathan’s set. But after he wrapped up, he jumped off the stage and walked up to me. “Want to talk backstage?” he asked.

 

“Yeah, why not,” I answered, in that pretend-casual way of a teenager. I thought it would be interesting in any case.

 

Backstage wasn’t much more than a dingy room without much furniture, and what was there didn’t look quite clean. So we sat down on the floor and started talking. About what, all these years later, is a bit fuzzy. Except for one moment that still stands out vividly.

 

A black spider had scurried across the floor and I jumped up in fright, because I had (and still have) a fear of spiders. But Jonathan continued to sit calmly, and explained that in his view, every living creature had a role to play in our weird world and that no life should be disturbed – or ended - without good reason. His compassionate perspective left a lasting impression on my 16-year-old brain.

 

I don’t remember much else about the night, except that we talked for some time and at some point we must have exchanged addresses. Because that meeting kicked off a 17-year, on-and-off pen pal friendship. One that continued, even though we only saw each other perhaps five more times in real life. 

 

In all those letters, Jonathan never said much very about himself (but I did get a song or two scribbled on paper). Instead, he gave me a lot of solid life advice as I navigated growing into womanhood. Maybe the anonymity of letters let me tell him everything that was going on in my head. I’m surprised he heard me.

 

Anyway, here’s to you Jonathan, for all that wisdom and the no-insect-squishing policy I’ve upheld through the years!