The more important part of your question slipped past me again. Of course Dave was hugely important, in almost every way one can describe. In many senses you could say that he saved my life. Not only was he the most (by light years)
sophisticated and complete musician I'd ever worked with (except for my parents, of course, but they were so hung up on Beethoven), but he was also: a confessor; an older brother figure; an easily aggravated but still positive motivator; and maybe most importantly to me, at least on a personal level, a container for the mad, self-destructive energy of which I had such an abundance. He laughs now about the times he'd open the door to his place and find me "looking like a squashed manic bug", hair flying, possibly bleeding, possibly running from the police, or some other (more serious) hoodlums, or a woman, or something. I left an old Remington typewriter on the floor behind his couch, and would write down some lyrics or something while he would construct these beautiful spooky electronic tracks. I'd fall asleep on the couch while he programmed drums until it was time to sing something, at which point he'd give me a cup of coffee, a microphone, a pair of headphones, and three tracks
to overdub vocals. Fully awake and energized, I was a bit too obnoxious for him, so after I'd done my singing, he'd subtly and sometimes not too gently throw me out into the streets until the next time.

That's a paltry description of a wonderful man, but it's all I have time for at the moment.


Yrs,

David Baerwald