G. G. Allin
Updated October 2004 in RED
It was going to be the most spectacular and terrifying rock n
roll show of all time...
GG Allin always maintained that he would commit
suicide onstage, promising to take as many of his fans with him as he could! A
'typical' GG show could be likened to a war zone, with GG brawling with fans,
bashing himself senseless and knocking out his own teeth with the microphone,
and both eating his own shit (ugh) and throwing it at the audience (TAXI!). In
fact, GG was arrested over 50 times over the course of his career for such
crimes as indecent exposure, assault and battery and endangering the lives of
his audience He spent a lot of time in jail cells and of course in hospital
emergency rooms. However his death was to be least spectacular thing about his
life of punk rock excess.
GG Allin's final performance was at the Gas Station club, New
York in 1993,and the rumor is that he'd already taken a shed load of drugs
before the actual show commenced. As things got under way, GG took a few swings
at members of the audience and the show seemed to be going (typically) well.
However, having completed the second song, the power was switched off and the
show came to an abrupt end. Not being the most reasonable person in the world,
GG went a little nuts and started to smash the place up (but he was so nice...)
he crashed his head through a French window and generally abused and punched
anyone that came close to hand. He soon tired of this and decided to leave the
club in order to go and party at Johnny Puke's apartment. He left the club and
walked through the streets of New York, naked and covered in shit and blood. As
he marched through the street, his fans followed along behind him, overturning
trashcans and throwing bottles at cop cars... A mini riot ensued, with cars
screeching to a halt as GG and his entourage staggered out into traffic.
Finally, after some half an hour of this street theatre of the bizarre, GG and
friends managed to hail a cab and get to Johnny Puke's apartment to carry on
with the festivities.
Back at Johnny's Place, the party was in full swing with drugs
and booze flowing freely in all directions. GG was in a buoyant mood again and
was snorting heroin with abandon (tra la! tra la!)... As he passed out, people
were grabbing him and posing for pictures with him, propped up with his arms
around them. As the night wore on, people were tiring and crashing out, but GG
Allin was already too far gone and died surrounded by the oblivious sleeping
bodies of his friends. He was 36 years old. At first, people refused to believe
that GG Allin could be dead...after all, he'd survived drug overdoses in the
past...he'd also endured beatings, stabbings, blood poisoning several times and
had always bounced back. But the truth sank in as the police came and then the
ambulance took him away.
After all the promises of the ultimate sacrifice for Rock N
Roll, GG Allin died the usual junkie's death. I am sure that he would have been
real angry at himself for dying in that way.
G.G.'s funeral took place on July 3rd
1993 in his native New Hampshire, at the St. Rose Cemetery, Littleton.
His wake was attended by his band mates, (including his
brother, Merle) and various friends and hangers on. GG was laid out in an open
casket, wearing his trademark leather jacket, dog collar, jockstrap, sneakers and a pair of "George
Jetson" socks! He was not the sweetest smelling man in life, but in death, he had a
strange scent, mixing flowers, feces, sweat, piss and whiskey. On his brother's
instructions, the funeral director did not wash or put make up on the corpse. As
he was in life, so he was in death. (this
is kinda gross, but here he is, in all his glory.)
G.G.'s wake turned into quite a party with people putting
drugs into his mouth and washing them down with slugs of Jim Beam... Once again,
people were having their pictures taken with the lifeless GG and pulling his
jockstrap down to gawp at his incredibly small penis...and of course, to take
pictures of it! (lovely.)
The last studio album that GG recorded with his band The Murder Junkies, was
playing all the while in the background. Finally, as his casket was closed for
the last time, his brother put a pair of headphones on GG playing some loud and
tuneless music called "the suicide sessions", that he'd recorded a few
years previously. A fitting showstopper for a man that so desperately wanted to
His gravesite has become a place of pilgrimage for many of his
fans where they come to get drunk and leave drugs and various bodily fluids in
memory of the filthiest pervert that ever hit the Rock n Roll stage! I am sure
that we shall not see the like of GG Allin again. The void left in the wake of
his death will never be filled.
Thank you Humphrey.
This in from Findadeath.com
friend Vince Scheben:
I'm a big GG Allin fan and noticed that you
have a few pics on your site and wanted to add a little bit of info I've found
in my travels for GG stuff on the net.. so take this for what it's
worth.. GG's original musical output was with a band called the
Jabbers.. in the late 70's, early 80's... they were actually
competent musicians playing some great Ramones style rock n' roll. GG
was very young and could actually carry a tune. His lyrics on songs like
"1980's Rock and Roll", "Automatic", and "Gimme Some
Head" only vaguely hinted at the depths he'd reach later in his career.
Rumor has it around the mid 80's he went through a seriously ugly divorce and
really began to live and breathe what he wrote about in his songs.. I
guess it went down from here. I've enclosed a great pic of a very
youthful GG from his first album alongside a pic from the day he died..
pretty different dude. Thanks Vince!
October 2004 - Findadeath was mentioned in
the Long Island Press over last weekend. In the article, it mentions G.
G. Allin and his feces flinging fun, and it caught the eye of new
findadeath.com friend Jim Maloney. He writes: I was a paramedic working full-time for Saint Vincent's Hospital in Manhattan and going to Fordham Law School at night. Even though it was summer, I was taking night classes because at the end of 1992 I had been burned out of my apartment at 16 West 95th Street and had been diagnosed with testicular cancer, so I had missed a semester of law school getting relocated and irradiated (kind of like simulation training for nuclear war), and was making up part of the lost semester by taking a 4-credit Constitutional Law class that summer. The course was waking me up to a lot of injustice. Also, two weeks earlier, Saint Vincent's had changed our uniforms, making us dress up in blue like cops, which I hated and had protested on the basis that it made us potential targets. I was in an ongoing battle with management over that. I was pissed off.
June 28 was a Monday. I was working a 7-3 tour with John Filangeri, a senior medic who had been on many high-profile calls like the Bernie Goetz shootings and the Joel Steinberg case. A call came in for an "unconscious, possible DOA" on the Lower East Side, and we went. I think it was a walkup, maybe the second floor. In a room that was brightly lit from a big window, a dead guy was lying on the floor. I vaguely recall that he was wearing a black leather jacket and not much else. It was an easy determination, as he had obviously been "down" for some time. No rigor yet, but he was already getting cold, and was beyond any attempt at resuscitation. After we pronounced, the cops stayed and waited for a basic unit to transport. Paramedics do not haul stiffs.
Later in the ER that day, I learned who G.G. Allin was. One of the nurses, Mary Malet, who also happened to be a lawyer and was active in the music business, told me about his on-stage antics. The feces-tossing thing seemed to be what everyone remembered. A claim to fame from a bit of shit.