i discovered pere ubu as cooking vinyl started to reissue their albums in the mid 90s, by which time i'd had a few years to imagine what they might sound like. i think i was 16 when i heard 'the modern dance' for the first time, and i knew i'd never be the same.

this rapt, open attention to the sound of rock'n'roll and what it could be persuaded to bear. the way his lyrics reflected and refracted other people's songs, as well as each other, across decades like the shards of mirror on the cover of bailing man. i think i fell in love with the articulacy of the man and his project as much as anything else - this is what we are, this is how we do it, this is what we're not going to do, this is what we're not prepared to settle for.

i saw them play just once, at the ica in london, for 'ubu roi'. sarah jane morris couldn't do the show so had been substituted with a stack of cardboard boxes with 'mere ubu' written on it. they played the album straight through - feeling like it might all violently disintegrate at any time - during "the story so far" he walked back upstage and lay down and sang this extraordinary wordless solo? howl? lament? - jesus, i don't know. i was afraid to try and meet them outside and i wish that i had.

some people's art gets right up in your imagination & your sense of self and looks around and says something like, "look over here! and over there! wow, look at that! what happens when we try this!?" his art did that for me.

'pennsylvania', 'why i hate/luv women', 'carnival of souls', all incredible.

My favorite memory of David Thomas was driving up from Oberlin to see Rocket from the Tombs (with Richard Lloyd in place of Peter Laughner) at Beachland Ballroom in 2006. That band had its share of strife, but on that night they (and especially Thomas) seemed absolutely delighted to tear through some 30-year-old songs to an appreciative crowd in their hometown. He grinned and laughed the whole night, delighted by the power of the band and the response of the audience.

That he managed to record a new record in his last weeks reminds me of John Grabski and our admiration for how that man lived and died.

Steve "Mongo" McMichael. Hopefully reunited with that little dog he used to dress up on Nitro.

I met Mongo once when he coached (owned?) the Chicago Slaughter, an indoor football team. He had hands the size of a brick, and that Super Bowl ring on his finger is the most massive piece of jewelry I've ever seen. Nice enough guy, was sad to hear he'd gotten so sick, relieved to hear it's over.

RIP

Damn. ALS is an awful disease. A family member died of ALS a long time ago. It was very painful to witness.

I never watched football, but he was a great "dickhead on the mic" commentator. Overshadowed by Heenan, unfortunately.

Dude could move in the ring too.