Richard Swift is dead at 41. Because of my love for his “sad songs,” I’ve always felt our friendship was close. Well, special at the very least.
sorry, mr. swift / but there’s no radio / that likes to play the songs / of your lover’s sorrow / just sing us a jingle / and we’ll float you some bread / all it will cost you / is your heart and your head
sorry, mr. swift / but you’re much too fat / and could i persuade you / just to wear a cap? / i hope you forgive me / and i hope you forget / the hurt that i’ve caused you / that you can’t feel yet
It was Steven Melrose who brought Dickie by. I just started doing A&R and my bosses at Geffen were eager to have me sign a “great rock ‘n’ roll” band. They were the first in a series of “bosses” to nix my enthusiasm to do a record a deal with Mr. Swift.
When I first started dating my wife Susan, I was obsessed with a series of home demos Richard had given me. Many a morning we listened to his sad songs over coffee. We also attended a number of gigs, all with barely a soul in attendance. One memorable night we went to see Dickie at a fairly large ballroom on Los Feliz, then called The Derby. Aside from Dickie’s friend who drove him, the soundman, Susan and me, there was absolutely no one there. The three of us sat at a table and watched Dickie perform a mind bending set of songs, some that would later appear on Walking Without Effort, others from The Novelist.
As we said our farewells after the set, we found out it was Dickie’s birthday. Swift was broke, depressed, and with barely enough gas to make it back home. I remember, upon getting in our car, Susan broke down in tears, weeping while struggling to ask why an artist so talented could play a show to no one. “How could no one know these songs?” I loved Susan for that. I mean, seriously.
It was in that moment of tears I knew that I wanted to ask Susan to marry me.
So Dickie Swift and his sad songs will always be in our hearts. We’re fucking sad. It’s beyond belief that a year ago to the day he lay dying in hospice, I was with him in his studio. Last June, Dickie had generously offered to record a young French Canadian band I dug called Les Seasons. The sessions were magic, and I am extremely grateful for the project that kept us in touch for much of his last year.
I’m sure Dickie would agree. Heaven knows what it all means?
Love and will miss ya man. RIP.
