Wiz, R.I.P.

While standing in the ridiculously long and slow-moving baggage-drop line at Heathrow, I got a little dose of cosmic perspective when I unexpectedly came across the obituary of Darren "Wiz" Brown in the latest issue of MOJO. Wiz was best known as the leader of the Mega City Four, a woefully under-appreciated English rock band that existed from 1986 to 1996. He apparently died in early December, after falling ill during rehearsals with his current band, Ipanema; cause of death has been listed as a blod clot in his brain. He was only 44 years old.

I first discovered the Megas in May 1992, when Carole gave me a vinyl LP of their new record, Sebastopol Rd. I loved the juxtaposition between Wiz's high, plaintive vocals and the band's thick, guitar-heavy sound, and I was also quite taken by his lyrics, which were full of compassion, dry wit, and hard-bitten optimism. (This being at the height of grunge, when excessive self-loathing seemed to be the fashionable order of the day.) The Megas came to Chicago shortly thereafter, and headlined the Metro; unfortunately, only about a hundred people showed up for the gig, but it felt like we all were sharing this wonderful secret. I distinctly remember running into several friends and acquaintances at the show, and the conversations were all some variation on, "How do you know about these guys?" The band was amazing that night, full of intensity — with Wiz and his brother Danny Brown conjuring up a thrilling Neil Young-meets-Husker Du guitar attack — yet also projecting a warm, unpretentious, completely down-to-earth vibe. Wiz said from the stage that they'd be back in the fall, but it didn't happen. Too bad, because I remember thinking that the word of mouth from that Metro show would have certainly filled the place for them the next time through.

Three years later, I was waiting to see Elastica at Austin's Liberty Lunch during SXSW, and watching UK punk-funkers Ned's Atomic Dustbin make a last-ditch attempt to impress the US record biz. I honestly wasn't paying much attention, but I snapped awake when the Ned's singer asked for a round of applause for "Wiz from the Mega City Four, who's filling in on guitar for us tonight!" Sure enough, there he was -- beanpole thin, flying dreads, killer guitar tone. Afterwards, I spotted Wiz having a lonely smoke near the backstage door, and felt compelled to say hello. He turned out to be very affable and charming, and we wound up chatting for about fifteen minutes, talking about guitars, records and what was up with the Megas; he told me they were finishing up a new album, and might be coming to LA in the near future to showcase for some US record companies. I worked for the LA Reader at the time, so I gave him my number (this was before most of us had e-mail) and told him to give me a buzz if they were doing any LA gigs, so that I could give them an advance write-up in the paper.

In August of '95, I got a fax at work addressed simply to "Dan - LA Reader". It was from Wiz; he'd lost my number, but somehow remembered my name (probably because it was the same as his brother's) and place of employ. The fax read something like, "Don't know if you still work here, but we're coming to LA next month to play some gigs and shoot a video. Will you be around?" The Megas were entering the US without work permits, so they couldn't bring their instruments along with them; he asked if I could help round up some guitars for their shows and shoot. I wound up lending him and Danny my Rickenbacker and Epiphone, which they used as their main axes for their shows at the Alligator Lounge and the Whisky (I think there was a third LA gig, as well, though I can't remember where). I was frankly honored see my guitars onstage in the Brown brothers' hands, though also slightly annoyed that Danny  was able to make my Epiphone sound a million times better than I ever could.

I hung out with Wiz and the band a couple of times over that long weekend, and found them all to be lovely chaps. We had just adopted our cats Mentos and Peelu, who were only about four months old, and I remember Wiz happily playing with the kittens in our sunlit living room on Orange Street; he seemed to have a special affinity for Mentos, whom he kept referring to as "Mentals". (How right he was, in retrospect!) I also remember the band driving me back my place in their rented van on their last night in town, after spending the evening hanging out at some awful pool hall on Fairfax. We were listening to Rodney on the ROQ, and right as we turned onto my street, Rodney played the band's "Wallflower" single; you could see that the guys were visibly moved to hear their music played on an American commercial radio station. Sadly, they never found a home in the US for their 1995 album Soulscraper, and the record was almost completely ignored in the UK amid the then-rampant Britpop mania — even though the album's great "Android Dreams" single certainly wouldn't have sounded out of place in the charts at the time. The Megas called it quits in 1996.

While I certainly can't claim to have known Wiz well, I spent enough time with him to see that he was a truly decent human being — a rarity in the music business, or anywhere else for that matter — and I wish I'd kept in touch with him after that LA visit. In lieu of flowers, his family requested that donations be made in his name to a couple of worthy charities, including one of my personal favorites, the International Fund for Animal Welfare.

Rest in peace, my friend. So sad to see you go so soon.

Comments

[Chris]

Brad Delp RIP?