March 18-24, 2004

cover story

On Dave

by Andrew Chalfen

The outpouring of sympathy and memories on The Dead Milkmen Web site message board (www.deadmilkmen.com) has been remarkable and moving. Many lives were touched by Dave’s intensity of wit, warmth, honesty and thoughtfulness, not to mention his bass riffs, which inspired so many to take up the bass, join a band and set themselves free from some narrow, backwater, close-minded place or situation. His unwavering support of local bands just getting their feet wet is legendary.

Many Web posters wish they could've done something to let Dave know that he was loved, that then Dave would still be around. But, in fact, I'm pretty sure he did know that he was loved, and not just in the celebrity worship way. This was a band that answered all its fan mail. If anything, people were into Milkmen for being regulars -- albeit shrewd and talented anti-celebrity regulars -- who saw through all the bullshit and ridiculousness of modern culture and politics and successfully fought back with punk rock and humor. They reveled in doing so and we loved them for it.

Being in The Dead Milkmen must have been a blast. It was also Dave's job for years, with all the intense routine and purpose that entails. Transitioning out of something like a long-held job or relationship, as everyone knows, is hard as hell.

I lost touch with Dave in recent years, except for a nice catch-up phone call we had four or five years ago. He had found purpose living and teaching English in Yugoslavia, sending back a harrowing diary of life there during the bombings, still cutting through the media bullshit to let us know what was really going on. I heard he went back to school for a while and that recently he was planning on returning to Serbia, where he said he felt more at home. Maybe he couldn't get comfortable with life post-Milkmen, as though he had been through the transforming experience of being in the trenches, with all its bonding, focus and meaning, and then feeling a bit lost after the war.

Dave could be pretty serious at times, but I’d imagine that he’d be as uncomfortable right now as I am with me getting all heavy like this. So I’ll heed his dope slap from the great beyond to tell you that when I lived with Dave and the rest of the band in ’86 and ’87, he was also all about yelling "Land ho!" and "We love the Beatles!" when he found out we could all hear one another through the walls having sex in our West Philly cave of an apartment. He would eat the weirdest shit in the name of keeping healthy, "in order to maintain [his] girlish figure." His daily crank calls under the name Fred Lettuce live on in infamy. He would concentrate like crazy when playing the bass, his military discipline with the instrument accessorized by his army boots and commando gear (except when the guys wore dresses and lipstick on stage early on). Between songs and offstage, though, he could have you rolling on floor in tears of laughter. Between him and Rodney there was no escape from their coordinated attack of punk borscht-belt one-liners and chicken-butt jokes. Dave was so much fucking fun to be around, no wonder the kids at the shows didn’t want him to leave afterwards. How cool would it be to escape, to just get in that van with Dave and the gang and head off for another show. He’d hang out with them as long as he could.

I'll really miss ya, buddy.

Andrew Chalfen was a friend, colleague and roommate of The Dead Milkmen. He used to play in the Wishniaks and DJ on WXPN; these days he plays with Trolleyvox.

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