I’ve known Chris King pretty much as long as I’ve been a performing musician; but in the years since moving to Chicago, I’ve actually grown closer to him mostly due to his friendship with my brother.
For years now I’ve loved coming back to Houston to sit in my brother’s backyard, passing a bottle of Teachers or Jameson with Mr. King and laughing about our troubles, laughing about our musical misadventures, and in due time telling one another how much we love one another – a little slurredly but heart felt just the same.
Chris King was in transition during this time. He was adapting to life as a regular guy after years of hustling as a professional (albeit broke) musician. He had a kid – an absolutely beautiful boy named Roy – who was born with a lot of problems and would need Chris’ love and attention for the rest of his life. Chris was working a real job. He’d finished his engineering degree. He was trying to put his old life behind him. But out on the patio we knew just how hard this was. Not because Mr. King whined and bitched because he didn’t, and he hardly had a mean thing to say either. We knew because what we talked about wasn’t what was but what had been. We hardly even talked about what could be.
I would have loved to talk about what could be because one thing I had brewing in my head at the time was starting a holiday band that would play every December in Houston with my brother, Chris King and any others who could spare the time.
But of course that wasn’t meant to be. Last year Chris King had a horrible accident, suffered traumatic brain injury which has left him near paralyzed and in need of that same love and attention due his own son.
Over the holidays, I finally went to see Mr. King with my brother. It was a strange trip down Highway 290. When my brother exited Windfern Road, I was overwhelmed with deja vu. It had been twenty one years since I’d been down Windfern Road. Back then I’d take that road to Jman Sage’s house for band rehearsal. I was uneasy and melancholy as we pulled up to Chris King’s family home.
If you know Chris at all and you haven’t gone to see him you should go and if you go I should warn you that if you have a phobia towards owls be prepared because Chris’ mom has the opposite feelings toward owls; she simply can’t get enough owlish things. Also be prepared to not do a whole lot. When we were there we watched 9 to 5 followed by the beginning of Beaches. The thing is I felt great, not because I thought I’d done some noble deed. It had been a stressful holiday (seems like every holiday season is stressful these days). Sitting there with Chris and just watching a funny old movie turned out to be just what I needed I guess.
A little peace and quiet.
Chris King - Richard Griesser Photography
Back when I lived on the other side of Shepherd, on Lexington, I had the pleasure of hanging out a couple times with Chris, who, if I remember correctly, was a friend of a friend. What I remember was how nice he was, and how easy it was to talk to the guy. As brief as those meetings were, they have stuck with me. Hearing about his accident was one of those things that kicks you in the gut. No, I don’t want anyone to suffer that fate, but Chris? Thanks for the post, I’m deeply under the weather today due to some sort of bug, and this made me feel much better. Cheers!
He’s soft spoken, funny and nice to boot, besides a heck of a musician. Thanks for the nice words. And get the hell better soon! Just coming off a beat down of an ear infection, as I think you heard, so I’m feeling a lot of empathy for anybody under the weather right now.