I walked into the historical landmark known as Churchill’s Pub at 1:30 p.m. on a recent Saturday afternoon. Bad Brains front man HR was sitting on the stage and waiting for me. I introduced myself, as he pulled me close. “Lets go to the backyard,” he whispered into my ear. I was jarred, as I followed him through the dark empty club, and outside to the porch.
The heat blazed down, as I sat dumbfounded. HR was wearing a khaki blazer, dark sunglasses, brown leather shoes, and slacks. His dreadlocks have never changed. I asked him if he would like something to drink. “Yes sir,” he said in a high-pitched but very soft voice, “I would like some pineapple juice.” He bent down and pulled a Gideon’s Bible from his guitar case, and then took out his shiny blue acoustic guitar. He continued to strum the guitar as I walked towards the bar and ordered pineapple juice on the rocks.
Bad Brains are my all-time favorite music group. Period. This was not an “interview,” and this is not a blog. It is a testimony to a man’s greatness. You see, as far as I am concerned, HR is a prophet, and our meeting was part of my quest for enlightenment. My reverence towards him is probably equal to a Buddhist’s towards the Dalai Lama, or a Catholic’s towards the Pope,
I began writing on a piece of paper in the club’s green room at around 2 a.m. HR was asleep next to me. The table was cluttered with empty beer bottles and blunt guts. A young blonde punk rock woman walked in, and began to rub his chest as he slept. “Oh my God, this is my destiny,” she said, “Can I wake him up?” HR lifted his head, took off his sunglasses, and looked at the woman. I finished my drink, stood up and exited the green room. About an hour later, HR appeared onstage handcuffed to the same woman.
Click here to see the unedited performances of HR at Churchill's Pub.
Videography by Jacob Katel.
