Sunday, January 20, 2008

she said...

"you sure you wanna ride that thing today"?


Sunday, January 06, 2008

My good buddy Drew Glackin

My buddy Drew Glackin died on Saturday afternoon. He was just 44 years old. I was lucky to know him,
to have him play in my band, play with him with other bands, have his big smiling face pop up almost anyplace around the globe from the Lakeside Lounge to some small town
bar in Southern Germany. I just drove to the DC area and back over the last 24 hours to play a gig myself. Fielding calls about Drew from friends spread far and wide.

The whole time I kept looking at the empty passenger seat in the Suburban. Drew always rode shotgun in my truck.

This all happened so fast. When I told my buddy the Hound about Drew his reaction was
"shit, that's awful, he's one of the few people I like"

Everybody liked Drew. How could you not. He could play a song he never heard and he left his amp at the Rodeo Bar so you wouldn't have drag yours in past all drunk yuppie happy hour crowd when you played there. You gotta love Drew.

There are so many great Drew stories. I don't know where to start so I'm gonna pass the ball to my good friend Van Alston who wrote this up Friday Night.


I had not seen Drew for four years when I walked into the Lakeside Lounge one Monday
night late last year. My wife, Christy, had run the NYC marathon on Sunday and had
rested up all day long in anticipation of seeing Chip Robinson play on Monday night.
Right when we walked into the Lakeside Drew hollered out a big hello to Christy, which I
heard as I was ducking into the bathroom. He had only met her once, when Tandy was
crashing at my house on one of their tours. Christy had no idea who he was. Nor did I, when I walked out of the bathroom.

I recognized the bald head, then the voice. Hugs all around. Christy was
still at a bit of a loss, as Drew had probably lost forty pounds since the first and only time she had
met him. I must say that he didn't look well. We moved to a table and I flat out asked
him if he was okay. He told me that a year or so ago that he had spent eight hours on
the operating table and that the doctors told him they were surprised that he had lived.
He laughed and joked about it. I made quite a few jokes at his expense. He topped
every one of them with a self-deprecating joke of his own.

Chip and Drew played an awesome set. The four of us got shit-faced drunk afterwards.
I brought out a picture of our kid and showed it to Drew sometime during the night. He
asked a million questions about Alejandro: Did he like music? Did he have a guitar? We
drank shots, beers, played the juke and then everyone went outside for a smoke.

He looked at Christy when we went outside and said "you might not remember me, but I
still have this" and pulled out the key to our house that he had carried around for over
ten years. I had given Drew the key years ago so that whatever band he might be
touring with would always have a place to crash in North Carolina. After a few more
drinks, everyone drifted off.

A week later Drew was playing with dos Chicas at Slim's in Raleigh. Christy and I went
to the show and Drew came up to us a few minutes before the set and handed me a lap
steel guitar. "I doubt if Alejandro has one of these," he said. We had some drinks after
the show and that was the last time I saw him.

They are going to pull the plug on him tomorrow and, while it sucks, I am okay
with that. Mourn for him, but only for a while. Drew had a wicked sense of humor, a sense of
humor with a dark streak a mile wide, and I will be doing my best to try and find
something cruel to say about his demise in order to keep from crying about losing such
a great friend. I recommend anyone that knew him to try and do the same.