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Ginger Geezer


The fine line between genius and madness is never more pronounced than when reading about the life of Vivian Stanshall, writer, artist, musician, depressive and alcoholic.

In many ways it's delightful to read of this highly creative man with his love of languange and his dedication to the act of creation. Hand in hand with this though is the understanding that this was a man with all his receptors open all the time, his brain fizzing on overdrive. The problems seem to have started after an American tour with the Bonzos in 1967 and there is speculation that he may have dropped acid on this *ahem* trip and come back a changed man. Like many of the most sensitive artists who tried the potent acid of the time this appears to have affected him greatly. His brain already highly active and with no thick skin between him and the world something radically changed. One only has to point to Brian Wilson and Syd Barrett to see the effects that LSD could have on a sensitive mind.

Suffering from depression Vivian was then prescribed Valium before Doctors understood the problems this could cause. He spent the rest of his life addicted to tranquilisers and this combined with his large alcohol intake made him a difficult person to get along with. From tragedy sometimes comes absurdity and humour though and there are so many episodes in his life that at the time were probably tragic but in hindsight contain great humour.

In the late 70's he started living on a houseboat and at one point had to go to hospital with a dislocated shoulder.

"Mr Stanshall, I have bad news for you", says the director of the hospital, "your boat has sunk".

Vivian thinking they were speaking metaphorically and were suggesting there was no hope for him replied "Nonsense, I'm as fit as a fiddle!"

"No, no, you don't understand, your boat has sunk"

Another tale has Vivian laid up with a hurt leg. When he says to a friend he is coming to visit, the friend suggests he get himself a crutch to help him walk. Vivian immediately steps into the back garden with an axe and chops down a small tree. Instant crutch. Sticking a sock and football boot on the end he's ready for the off. Unfortuntely when he gets to his friends neighbourhood he knocks at the wrong door.

The door is opened by a Jewish woman in her Sixties who is confronted by the site of "a wild-eyed giant reeking of rum, wearing octagonal glasses, a long knotted red beard and a nightshirt covered in moons and stars". And oh yes, a tree with a football boot on the end as a crutch. Vivian roars "Where's, Pete!" at which point the old lady screams in terror and Vivian collapses on top of here before getting up and staggering off leaving her in a heap.

Such a fine line between comedy and tragedy.

I'm most of the way through Ginger Geezer by Lucian Randall and Chris Welch and it is a fine read and an interesting insight into someone who is seen as one of the last great English eccentrics. This is true in so far as he led his life as a true artist, always creating art and always enjoying creating scenes in public to see the reactions of those around him even when it might lead him into danger (trawling round Soho with Keith Moon both dressed in Gestapo uniforms springs to mind). However we as the public can have our view of the funny eccentric, his wonderful voice, songs and writings but for those around him and for Vivian himself real life was often difficult and tragic and as much as he can be an inspiration, he can also be pitiful and self destructive.

I'm near the end of the book and I can see that Vivian's situation and health is deteriorating and knowing what I know of the events surrounding his death this is going to be diffcult to read.

Tragedy. Genius. Self-Destruction. Sensitivity. More often than not unfortunate bedfellows.

10:20 | 0 Comments, | permanent link

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