Ken Chinn (1962-2020)

Ken Chinn and his passing. What can I say about this force of culture that Ken would not throw mud at? (I'll say it anyway, and take the dream thrown at me.)

I met Ken a few times while touring in the late-80s/early-90s, but most memorably at Kevin Rose's house in North Burnaby where Ken was staying while the two were in The Wongs together. This was in 1993, after I retired from the Miners and was starting the Malcolm Lowry Room up the street on East Hastings.

A lot has changed since then. People have less time for personalities like Ken's. Back then there was something invigorating about being in the company of those who laboured hard (emotionally?) to make you think carefully about what you were putting out in the world. Some of the writers associated with the Kootenay School of Writing were like that, and I learned a lot from their work and their sometimes unpleasant dispositions.

"Cockatoo Quill" (2004) is one of Ken/SNFU's greatest songs.

Drinkin’ again,
I’m not thinkin’ ahead,
I got that shrinking feeling,
That only grows larger,
Day by day,
Lager by lager.

And I’m still sitting here,
Writing my will with a cockatoo quill,
The one thing I own,
One thing that’s not on loan,
One thing I haven’t sold, yet.

It’s so easy just to fuck it all
and go for the mersyndol,
Or something stronger to get me back
on the wagon I just fell off of,
Another swig,
One last gulp,
One more tablet to pop,
Anything to get me to start
working on what I’ve been putting off.

And I’m still sitting here
And I'm still sitting here
I’m on a boat that doesn’t float,
And I can’t swim,

That’s the predicament that
I’m currently wrestling with
and I’m going to win,
and I’m going to win,
and I’m going to win,
and I won’t be pinned.