hoon articles:

Aug 11, 2005 14:26

2 articles i ran across...


Memories of Shannon Hoon
Like many fans of Blind Melon, I was devastated by the news that lead singer Shannon Hoon left this world.
Hoon, 28, was found dead by his soundman in the band's tour bus in New Orleans on October 21, 1995. Although not officially released by the coroner's office, Hoon reportedly died of an accidental drug overdose and was presumed to be dead for hours before he was discovered. The band ironically was returning to New Orleans for the first time since completing work on Soup which was recorded there. Blind Melon was scheduled to perform a show just hours later at Tipitina's, a popular New Orleans nightclub.
I first met Shannon in 1991 when the then newly signed Blind Melon were opening for the band I was tour managing at the time, Law and Order. We quickly became friends as anyone who met Shannon found easy to do. When Blind Melon were asked to open the MTV 120 minutes Tour with B.A.D. II, P.I.L. and Live in March of 1992, the band called me up and asked if I would tour manage them.
After the band and I ended our "working" relationship, I took great pride in hearing from the media how well the Melons were doing; mostly on the strength of their hit "No Rain" from their double platinum plus debut. At the same time I was concerned at the stories of how the ever mischievous Hoon kept getting in hot water.
When I interviewed Blind Melon guitarist Rogers Stevens this summer we spoke aboud and semi-joked about Shannon's vices. After all, they were no secret to any after he checked into rehab earlier this year.
Rogers said Shannon was "clean" and I took great solace in that. Whenever some one curiously asked me what Shannon was like I always said he was a great guy and a disaster waiting to happen, unfortunately I was right on both counts.
The last time I saw Shannon was at the first show of the Soup tour on September 19th, 1995 in Asbury Park, New Jersey. We made plans to hook up when the band came into New York for a couple shows. We sat on the same tour bus, near the bunk he died in, and talked about life in general. I told him to take care of himself because I didn't want to hear he died a premature death and have to write his obituary. Once again, I was unfortunately right on both counts.
Shannon is survived by his five month old daughter, Nico Blue Hoon, his girlfriend Lisa Crouse and his mother Nel. A private funeral was held in his hometown of Lafayette, Indiana. Blind Melon has not announced their future plans at press time.
Anyone wishing to contribute to an education fund for Shannon's infant daughter can do so by sending their donations to: Nico Blue Hoon, c/o Shapiro & Company, 9229 Sunset Boulevard, Suite 607, Los Angeles, California, 90069.
I'll miss you Hoondog...
- Circus Magazine



Details, July 1996
After Blind Melon's lead singer was found OD'd on a tour bus last October, there was no rockumentaries or candlelight vigils. In fact, almost no one noticed. Chris Heath explores the unexamined life and death of Shannon Hoon.
From the New York Times' Obituary page, October 23, 1995:
Shannon Hoon, lead singer of the rock group Blind Melon, died on Saturday in the band's tour bus in a parking lot in New Orleans. He was 28 and lived in Lafayette, Ind. The cause was apparently an accidental drug overdose. Blind Melon achieved rapid success with its self-titled first album. The video for "No Rain" was so popular that its images of a cavorting girl dressed in a bee costume threatened to eclipse the band.
In high school, Mr. Hoon developed a reputation for misbehavior. Recently Mr. Hoon moved back to Lafayette with his girlfriend of 10 years, Lisa Crouse, and a daughter, Nico Blue, was born to them this summer. In addition to his mother, daughter and Ms. Crouse, Mr. Hoon is survived by his father, Richard; a sister, Anna, and a brother, Tim.
Thats what life can shrivel into: an overdose, a bee girl, a few leftover family members. There wasn't much fuss when Shannon Hoon died. He wasn't famous enough or ironic enough. His body gave out as Blind Melon toured America's clubs, trying but failing to interest the world in their second album, Soup.
The Monday after his death, a new Blind Melon video, "Toes Across the Floor," was serviced to MTV, as previously planned. You might have thought they would have played it a bit, whatever they thought of the video or the song; it did show the last public cavortings of a singer whom, two years before, they had joyously force-fed their audience. They didn't. In fact, the single's tepid recognition - the embarrassed way it was ignored - acted as a perfect metaphor for the death with which it coincided. The truth is that Shannon Hoon's death was treated - was reviewed - exactly as if it were a new Blind Melon single. And in October 1995 there were few less valuable pop commodities than a new Blind Melon single.
I'm as swayed by pop culture's violent and callous mood swings as anybody, and maybe I would have also reacted to his death as an inconvienience and an irrelivance, if not for a few curious days in 1993 when I went on tour with Blind Melon. I went somewhat unwillingly - I needed some time at home, and I didn't consider it a peach of an assignment - but Details wanted to respond quickly to the band's sudden celebrity. So I went, and something about the experience stayed with me. Particularly Shannon Hoon. He was crazy and rude, and yet also unbearably sweet. It seemed as though he couldn't make up his mind whether to fight me, avoid me, or make me love him.
Then there was the matter of the lighter. It was an Elvis Presly lighter, slightly worn, bought in Memphis. Shannon would sit on the tour bus, the lighter in one hand, cradling his bong with the other. Midway through my visit, Elvis spluttered and stopped. Shannon Hoon and I had developed an odd relationship, with plenty of jostling. He walked out of two interviews; I soon realized that the only way to deal with him was not to indulge him but to be equally rude back. Somewhere along the way, we got on quite well. There was an incredible spirit around him, wanton and careless, but also somehow innocent and invigorating. On my last evening, he suddenly passed me his spent lighter, clearly intending it as some kind of strange act of friendship

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