Black Dog (Mark Shurilla)
Blackie got his nickname, I guess, from his long jet-black hair and beard. He was fairly well-known at the University of Wisconsin - Milwaukee when I started there in 1970. It was my sophomore year, I think, when I met him at the campus radio station where I, thinking about a journalism major, did some occasional news-reading. He had a late night show, playing “progressive rock” and reading poetry.
It was a poem - one of his own - that got Dog kicked off the air. Something to do with bodily functions, including but not limited to sex. The poem had a pretty high “yuck factor” but such was the man’s style: shock had definite value to him. He combined, so to speak, comedy and performance art.
It turned out that a buddy of mine at the campus newspaper was a housemate of Blackie’s. I got invited to a party at their place. It was a large, “stately” house on Maryland Ave. a few blocks north of campus. The four or five or six guys who lived there (it was hard to keep track) called it the Herb Spudley Foundation, named after they said, a demolition derby driver who was “killed in action.”
The Spudley Foundation threw a lot of parties, all of which could be counted on to be crowded, with lots of booze and dope, and occasional nudity. One party celebrated Lazlo Toth - a crazy Hungarian who attacked Michelangelo’s Pieta in the Vatican museum with a hammer. (Blackie, an artist in his own right, couldn’t really have supported such an act; I’m sure he looked at it (there was minimal damage) along the lines of Duchamp’s Mona Lisa with a mustache).
It was that party, I think (it was a very long time ago), that I witnessed the debut of the “Electric Assholes.” That was Black Dog on electric guitar and vocals, and a couple of other guys on guitar and bass. I don’t recall a drummer that first time. They did five or six songs; the only (barely) recognizable one was “The Bristol Stomp.”
They eventually became a real group, changing their name to the “Black Holes” to get gigs. By that time I was long gone, on my quest. I wasn’t there to witness the subsequent development of Blackie’s career. The obituary included here is courtesy of my friend Dave, who lives in Milwaukee and occasionally updated me concerning Blackie and other old buddies (he also sent an old photo of Blackie's "crucifixion" at a Good Friday party - but I can't figure out how to get it into this post). Dog posted some comments on this blog a while ago, when the discussion turned to music. We talked by telephone once, but I never managed to get together with him on my various trips home.
He was 64 years old. Whether you think that’s an advanced age depends on how long ago you began traveling along the arc between birth and death. Since I started out just four years after him, I like to think that arc (mine, at least) should extend considerably longer. We’ll see. But even if I last decades longer, I’ll never make things as interesting as Mark did.
http://www.jsonline.com/news/obituaries/music-man-shurilla-was-instrumental-to-city-scene-195dict-151467085.html
It was a poem - one of his own - that got Dog kicked off the air. Something to do with bodily functions, including but not limited to sex. The poem had a pretty high “yuck factor” but such was the man’s style: shock had definite value to him. He combined, so to speak, comedy and performance art.
It turned out that a buddy of mine at the campus newspaper was a housemate of Blackie’s. I got invited to a party at their place. It was a large, “stately” house on Maryland Ave. a few blocks north of campus. The four or five or six guys who lived there (it was hard to keep track) called it the Herb Spudley Foundation, named after they said, a demolition derby driver who was “killed in action.”
The Spudley Foundation threw a lot of parties, all of which could be counted on to be crowded, with lots of booze and dope, and occasional nudity. One party celebrated Lazlo Toth - a crazy Hungarian who attacked Michelangelo’s Pieta in the Vatican museum with a hammer. (Blackie, an artist in his own right, couldn’t really have supported such an act; I’m sure he looked at it (there was minimal damage) along the lines of Duchamp’s Mona Lisa with a mustache).
It was that party, I think (it was a very long time ago), that I witnessed the debut of the “Electric Assholes.” That was Black Dog on electric guitar and vocals, and a couple of other guys on guitar and bass. I don’t recall a drummer that first time. They did five or six songs; the only (barely) recognizable one was “The Bristol Stomp.”
They eventually became a real group, changing their name to the “Black Holes” to get gigs. By that time I was long gone, on my quest. I wasn’t there to witness the subsequent development of Blackie’s career. The obituary included here is courtesy of my friend Dave, who lives in Milwaukee and occasionally updated me concerning Blackie and other old buddies (he also sent an old photo of Blackie's "crucifixion" at a Good Friday party - but I can't figure out how to get it into this post). Dog posted some comments on this blog a while ago, when the discussion turned to music. We talked by telephone once, but I never managed to get together with him on my various trips home.
He was 64 years old. Whether you think that’s an advanced age depends on how long ago you began traveling along the arc between birth and death. Since I started out just four years after him, I like to think that arc (mine, at least) should extend considerably longer. We’ll see. But even if I last decades longer, I’ll never make things as interesting as Mark did.
http://www.jsonline.com/news/obituaries/music-man-shurilla-was-instrumental-to-city-scene-195dict-151467085.html