Proudly, I can say that I didn’t know it was Mars Williams up on stage, and he did indeed blow me away. To me, the Psychedelic Furs were the band my younger sister liked for their dreamy, glossy songs. I went in with modest expectations and walked away thinking, wow, those guys rock more than I expected, and whoever plays sax for them is a monster.
That was a couple of years ago. A friend had an extra ticket to the Cruel World festival in Los Angeles — a day full of ’80s nostalgia acts and some related modern-day artists like Blaqk Audio. Not a jazz scene, obviously. The main attraction for me was Devo. (I will forever savor and envy The New York Times’ October 2023 headline: Devo’s Future Came True.) The surprise highlight, and the thing that still sticks in my mind most strongly, was Mars.
Mars died of cancer earlier in November, as I learned through Peter Margasak’s Nowhere Street newsletter. On Mars’ GoFundMe page, Mars’ family notes that when treatments proved ineffective, he opted to “spend six weeks of the time he had left living as he had since he was a teenager — out on the road performing night after night.” Good for you, Mars.
I knew Mars’ name and work — but apparently not his face — from the Chicago avant-garde scene, the same vector that brought me to Ken Vandermark, Tim Daisy, Nicole Mitchell, Dave Rempis, and so many others. It’s tragic that he won’t be here for one last round of the Ayler Xmas shows.
Elsewhere: Martin Schray provided thoughtful words for the Free Jazz Collective, including a blitz of Mars Williams recommendations. Hannah Butler wrote a touching obituary for the Chicago Tribune.
Memory Select: Journeys in Creative Music 