Story for Adrian Belew, re BEAT and the King Crimson / Riverview Hospital anecdote

Hello, members of BEAT. I had been thinking I might try to interview Adrian Belew apropos of the tour, but really, the point of it was just to tell him a funny story about a song, "Indiscipline," that you'll be playing. I secured a home for the story, maybe with an eye on getting comped into the upcoming Vancouver show, but the truth is, I don't have any great questions to ask. Actually the stuff I'm most curious about is either already known or has nothing to do with 80's King Crimson ("Did Bob Dylan ever react to your impersonation of him on Zappa's 'Flakes'? How, exactly, did that come about -- did Zappa know you did a good Bob Dylan and write the lyric for you, or did he approach the band and say, 'I need a Dylan impersonation' and do, like, tryouts, which you won, or...?" ...Hell, I bet that's already known, too... just not by me!). 

I think I've given up. My initial attempts to reach out didn't go anywhere, and I have other writing to do, so rather than trying to figure out what channels to go through and trying to come up with intelligent questions about some of the more daunting rock guitar out there, it's easier just to buy a ticket and tell the story here, in case I can get your attention. It's funny, I promise! (But I may take too long getting to it; bear with me, I'm verbose, and some context is required).   

(General readers who do not know that song should go here before proceeding. Note that the inspiration for most of the lyrics -- by Belew, who also does the vocals -- was based on a letter Belew got from his then-wife, talking about a sculpture she had done. There's a fun interview where that comes up, here; it is also mentioned here. Those with a sharp eye who clicked the first link will notice that the Youtube channel for the song mis-identifies the authorship, not mentioning that the lyrics are Belew's, despite it being the official page; what's with that? [That could be another question, actually: "Did you feel there was sufficient respect for your lyrical contributions, or were they regarded an ancillary to the music?" Or, like, "Did Margaret ever get any credit for those lyrics? Was that a bone of contention between you?" [There is apparently a fan-made film that credits her, "following a disturbed artist's personal satisfaction with her painting"]. ANYTHING so that I don't have to try to ask something intelligent about your guitar playing. Vancouver has Alex Varty for that; I know when I'm outclassed). 

Anyhow, the story involves this guy, beknownst to all King Crimson fans: 

So in the late 1990s, we still had a functional psychiatric hospital in the lower mainland, Riverview. It was already downsizing; many wards had been emptied, following a model of putting the mentally ill back into the community, in smaller group homes or even just on their own (ideally with some sort of supports, but there did seem to be a connection between that policy move and the number of mentally ill people one started seeing walking around Vancouver, probably homeless...). There have been some particularly nasty crimes in Vancouver of late that have led to discussion about returning to a model of incarceration for the seriously mentally ill -- the sort of people who were still on locked wards, back in 1996 or so, when this story takes place -- but even then, they were filming The X-Files and the odd Hollywood movie in wings that had been cleared out (you've probably unknowingly seen some Riverview interiors). Which I think had something to do with keeping the hospital open, because funding was being cut: Hollywood helped keep the place open for longer than the government would have.

I digress. Back then, I was making a slow transition from being a confused, marginally employed acidhead (I spent a few years of my early 20s exploring psychedelics, mostly whilst listening to out-there music, including King Crimson) and devoting myself to finishing some sort of degree (I'd been in and out of university for several years, unsure of a direction) and trying for a career of some sort. For awhile, before I decided that I would get certification to become an ESL teacher, I considered a career in psychiatric nursing; but the academic advisor at the college where I was considering taking the training suggested that before I do that, I volunteer at Riverview to get a feeling for what life was like on the wards and figure out if I had the aptitude or interest or psychic stamina for the job. Seemed like fair advice! So I looked into volunteer positions available, and decided to help with the art therapy program, to see if I liked the work. (I thought that my experience with psychedelics might give me some insight into what it was like to be mentally ill; I figured that maybe I'd explore that as a career, too, as a more creative variant on psychiatric nursing). 

I applied, was accepted, and for about nine months, I would turn up on (I think) a weekly basis and go sit on the wards with the art therapist, where we would make art of our own, and set out materials on the tables and encourage other people to come and make art, which -- if people wanted to -- we could then talk about with them. The actual "therapy" aspect of it was less a part of my role; the art therapist, if I recall, did one-on-one sessions with people, going into depth, but I didn't have that much involvement in that side of things. Mostly I think the idea that the art itself was therapeutic, and it gave something productive and fun for the patients to do, you know? There was a bit more to it than that -- I also helped with a patient "Outsider Art" show, and I got to know a couple of the patients who were on part of the committee to make that happen, but mostly the position involved making art on the wards.  I only have one piece of art I did from that time, a self-portrait in a kettle, inspired by Escher, that I did while waiting for a meeting to begin:

Commence story! ...so one day, I'm sitting on a ward with the art therapist; we have art supplies spread out on the table, and I'm in a mood, feeling like stirring the pot a bit -- because things generally happened pretty slowly, at an "institutional" pace, at that hospital -- so I'm drawing a giant, weird, screaming face on a piece of paper, thinking it might inspire some reactions, get things going, inspire people to make art or at least react. And a tall, skinny guy who looked to be in his 20s wanders over, who I immediately figured was a fellow psychonaut -- he had Christopher Lloyd hair, a beard, a big grin, and an affable demeanor; I had no idea what his story (or diagnosis) was, but I'd seen him on ward breaking up conflicts, keeping things peaceful between people, being generally friendly (but not entirely coherent; his thought processes were kind of hard to follow). And he checks out my drawing and goes, "Heyyy, King Crimson!" 

I looked at the screaming face and could see what he meant; I mean, it hadn't been what I was trying for, but sure, why not? And suddenly -- I'm guessing it was him who started the chant, but I don't remember exactly; I joined in pretty quickly, though -- and this guy and I are chanting together, rather loudly, in the middle of the ward of a psychiatric hospital:

I repeat myself when under stress

I repeat myself when under stress

I repeat myself when under stress

I...

And, like, the other patients are looking over at us "like we're crazy," so to speak. The art therapist (who doesn't know the song) is looking a bit concerned. But the guy and I are both grinning and pleased as punch to be bonding on the lyric. 

A few weeks later, I guess he was out on the street again, because I saw him wandering around on Robson Street. I said hi, and tried to follow his conversation a bit (I couldn't; his mind zipped this way and that, dots in space with no lines between them, impossible to see what the picture was). But I bought him a slice of pizza and have carried that moment with me for almost thirty years -- by far the happiest/ most favourite/ most entertaining moment from my time as a volunteer. 

I guess that could be another question for Adrian Belew: has that line drawn any fun or unexpected reactions? Do you vary the number of times you repeat it, when you play it live? Are there any other variants?

But I guess I'll just go to the concert and see.