The Nudity of Death: On 'Texas Serenade' by The Gun Club

I have been criminally lucky that I’ve not lost many friends at this point in my life, but luck runs out. Some won’t be around when you die, yourself, and others will attend your funeral.
Jeffrey Lee Pierce of The Gun Club asks in the refrain of ‘Texas Serenade’, from their sophomore album Miami (Animal Records, 1982): “What will they say about him?”

Jeffrey Lee Pierce was a rarity in the early wave of punk. He didn’t tell stories in the way Bob Dylan or even The Velvet Underground did, but spun yarns in the way that the men of blues and country did. ‘Texas Serenade’ spins the yarn of a man who is found dead on his own lawn. The burning question – “What will they say about him!”
The speaker of the song gives the listener biographical details of the subject:
The deceased was a decorated combat veteran.
He moved out west after a past in Houston.
He was a violent man, who saved the speaker from trouble.
The speaker has conflicting feelings about the deceased’s interference in his life — “What should I say about it?”
That burning question, that haunting refrain!

Few biographies are complete or compelling unless the subject is deceased. There’s more dirt to dig up after the subject is swallowed by the earth.
There’s only so much the living can do to defend the dead.

There is no greater nudity than the nudity of death.

The dead are robbed of worldly possessions in a manner that would make a monk envious.
The dead are masters of garnering momentary sympathy.
The dead leave photos, children, art, houses, a lingering carbon footprint, but tend to be forgotten in a generation or two unless by a fluke.

The biographer, the genealogist demystifies the dead in a manner akin to paleontologists breathing new life into the extinct, or the Eucharist breathing new life into Christ through the mouths of the clergy.

Example: there was a friend I lost this year named Nick.
We met in college, sharing an introductory linguistics class. He was a philosophy major while I was into geology; our interests intersected enough that we could talk bullshit in elevated language.
I never actually hung out with him, but we’d get distracted by each other whenever we’d bump into each other in the street.
The last encounter I had with Nick, that I remember, was him saying in the middle of a busy street that he was reading Winesburg, Ohio by Sherwood Anderson. He remarked that it was one of the most depressing things he had ever read.

I dropped out and moved away to Columbus, Ohio. Then back to my hometown, never hearing from him again.
The next thing I hear about him was that he had committed suicide by gunshot.
After I hear about his suicide, it came out that Nick was a serial rapist.
Had Nick lived, I would have likely never have found out.
Had I found out while he was alive, I would’ve cut him off.
But he cut off himself from everyone, even those who didn’t know or those who didn’t care.

“What will they say about him?”
Here’s what I say:
I cannot grieve for him.
I will not forget him, but he deserves to be forgotten.
I vomit up my memories of him, as a man who wants to live again vomits up the pills he swallowed.

God damn the day I have to bury my mother and father, or the day they have to bury me.
God damn the day I lose the people I gave and will give my heart to.
God damn whatever memories may be tainted after funerals.
God bless the day I lose nobody anymore.

Jeffrey Lee Pierce sings: “Always ask me but I don’t care anymore.”

Jeffrey Lee Pierce himself died on March 31, 1996, at the age of 37.
So young, but rock n’ roll has claimed those younger than him. Drugs and alcohol, too.
“What will they say about him?”
They’ve said so much, but perhaps not enough.

What will they say about me, then?
It’d depend on who you asked, like everyone.
The only aspiration I have is to be better from here until I die, and not worse.
What will you say about me?
Will you shut your mouth or wail?
Will you forget, or simply ignore?

Lyrics

He’s dead on the lawn
Of the house that he owned
What will they say about him?
He had medals
He was in the war
What will they say about him?
He had folks in Houston
But he moved out west
What will they say about him?
The Mexican neighbors
And women stand crying
Wonder what he was involved in
Always ask me, but I don’t know anymore
Always ask me, but I don’t care anymore
He was the violent kind
He saved me once or twice
What should I say about it?
I tried so hard
But, I just said no
And what should I say about him? About him?
Always ask me, but I don’t know anymore
Always ask me, but I don’t care anymore
Always ask me, but I don’t know anymore
Always ask me, but I don’t care anymore
That he’s dead on the lawn
That he’s dead on the lawn
What will they say about him?
What will they say about him?
What will they say about him?
Please, oh please, oh please don’t ask me
Please, oh please, oh please don’t ask me
Please, oh please, oh please don’t ask me
Please, oh please, oh please don’t ask me
Please, oh please, oh please don’t ask me