The one with the wicked chops.

That was a shocker.

A musician I hadn’t thought about in 10 years or so, except while briefly remembering high school as I thumbed through my CD collection, died last night of heart failure at age 48.

Even though I lost track of Type O Negative shortly after World Coming Down, hearing about Steele’s death was a little like hearing about one of your favorite countries being bombed, or finding out the college pizza place you spent all your time in closed down. Hearing he was 48 was a little weird, too — I’d always thought that guy had to be immortal or something.

The 6 -foot-7 bass player and lead singer was originally named Petrus T. Ratajczyk, hailed from Brooklyn, was a control freak, and had a baritone voice that could be mistaken for a bus driving by. Rumors of his death circulated in 2005, but it was found to be a publicity stunt related to the band’s signing to a new label. He also apparently posed in Playgirl as another stunt. Fascinating.

Not having the time to write a proper post just now, I’ll refer you to the stories written by NY Daily News and Rolling Stone.

You can also read the mournful posts on the band’s Myspace page, or visit their forums, where I’m sure some asshole will stir up shit eventually.

RIP, Steele.

Reprinted from my Cinema Blend article.

I don’t get goose bumps very often. Occasionally I’ll be sitting alone some cool, quiet night with headphones on, and I will feel a chill, mixed with the tingle of awe that occasionally comes with a really good song. If I had more time to sit still, it might happen more often.

But sometimes it doesn’t have to wait for the right time.

It happened to me the other day, in fact – on a hot day, maneuvering through traffic on the way home from work. And it makes sense, considering the song. It was The Smiths’ “Suffer Little Children,” possibly the creepiest pop song ever written.

This song doesn’t endeavor to be morose like Nine Inch Nails’ “Hurt,” or Halloweeny like Type O Negative’s “Black no. 1” (or any other Type O Negative song…). This one is unassuming, quiet, beautiful and innocent – and entirely haunting. Part of the reason has to do with what it is about.

The last track on The Smiths’ first album is about a series of murders. Specifically the Moors Murders, a string of extremely violent child killings that took place around Manchester in the ‘60s.

Between 1963 and 1965, Scottish stock clerk Ian Brady and his girlfriend, Myra Hindley, persuaded five children between the ages of 10 and 17 to follow them to various places, where Brady mercilessly tortured and then killed them. Hindley watched while Brady raped, hacked and strangled his victims with string or cord, nearly decapitating one of them. The couple then buried the corpses on a dreary field north of the A635 road, west of Oldham, called Saddleworth Moor. Four of the bodies were found over the next twenty years, one never was.
Read the rest of this entry »