Diary of a Rock Star

By Christopher Mandell

Not long ago, when the death of George Harrison at the age of fifty-eight was announced to the world, people everywhere who had been touched by his music stopped in their tracks. Some stopped for a mere moment of reflection on the way their lives had been bettered by his work, some to wipe the tears from their cheeks and say a silent prayer; we all knew that something beautiful had passed from this world, never to return. In the whirlwind of grief and sorrow, however, a lesser-known but no less influential artist's passing was all but ignored.

Jacksaw Hanlin, "The Jacksaw," one of the most brilliant performers of the last fifty years, died two days later, but not a single television program or newspaper mentioned his name. The Jacksaw's stylistic flamboyance and commanding harmonies, coupled with his avant-guard, almost eccentric approach to music, treating it as a craft when so many others treated it as an trade, set him apart from other acts of his time, and paved the way for others such as David Bowie, Iggy Pop, and yes, even Britney Spears.

In tribute to a rock legend, I will attempt to paint a picture of one of the truly great men of the latter half of the past century, and I shall include excerpts from his diary, dating back to the very beginning of his career, which his family recently endowed to the Museum of Music History, in Surrey, England, and are now available on the web. Through his own words, you will gain insight into the formation of one of the brightest stars in the cosmos of music, and, hopefully, come to appreciate one of the most undervalued influences on today's pop-culture.

Jacksaw Hanlin was the name a young boy from Manchester, Leonard Felinschitz assumed when he set his sights of fame in the late fifties, a name that would become synonymous with imploring counter-harmonies, deep, sexually charged rhythms, and bold musical innovation. The choice of the name also marked an enormous turning point in Leonard's career.

Feb 12, 1959

"…I feel like I'm missing something. The music is kickin', why can't I get a break? That dick of a pub manager [the exact pub Leonard is speaking of is unknown, but the manager must have kicked himself for decades after this event] just laughed when I introduced myself, he didn't even listen to the music. He didn't even take his hand out of his pants except to pick his gold teeth. I think it must be the Jewish thing. I need a star's name, like Buddy Holly, or like the guys from the movie in dad's dresser, Hard Handlin, and Jack in the Box…"

We can see from this excerpt the beginnings of the name a young Leonard would soon settle upon, but his story begins far earlier than this, when his steel-worker father bought him his first guitar at age 6, a cheap acoustic that was all he could afford. From that day forth, he could not be separated from it. According to many accounts he even bathed with it, an experience which some say probably inspired such classics as "Naughty Bubbles," "Wallow in My Own Filth," and "Rubber Duckie" (not to be confused with the Sesame Street version).

When the Felinschitz family's financial situation improved, Leonard refused his father's repeated offers of music lessons; Leonard knew even at such a young age that a teacher of "music" could not teach him "art." He did not allow his creativity to be polluted with convention, his originality to be ossified by theory.

Mar 15, 1956

"…My dad don't understand. He's old…"

His father's warnings of wasted talent would prove to be far from the truth. Leonard soon developed his own distinctive stylistic fusion which friends, family, and other musicians would describe as "lovely," "very nice," and "interesting." Leonard was not, however, content with flattery, as no great man ever is.

After dropping out (or being expelled; records and testimony seem to conflict over this issue) of school at fourteen, Leonard devoted himself entirely to his music. He spent his entire savings on an electric guitar, and, within another couple of years, he had saved enough from odd jobs to purchase an amplifier. Then, in 1961, he moved into a small flat with a group of other musicians, and together they called themselves the "Hooters." Leonard's distinctive style and mastery of his instrument set him apart from the others, and soon he earned the nickname "Fingers," for his habit of eating fish fingers during rehearsal.

The Hooters never released any albums, but Leonard's work with them formed a major part of the musical renaissance of upper Manchester in the early sixties (his influence can be seen in many local hits by other artists, from the psychedelic (such as "You'll Never Be An Emperor Penguin,") to the more mainstream (like "Mind your own business (or I'll scream)," and "Why (Do You Have to Be Such a Nagging Insane Bitch).")

Throughout this period, the Jacksaw, as he had come to be known, and the Hooters, continued to perform, though mostly in open-air concerts, with free admission, and a lack of proper permits which resulted in one arrest for assaulting an officer of the law, who had tried to confiscate the Jacksaw's guitar and called his music "bollocks" (British slang for testicles). The Hooters soon broke up due to artistic differences, however.

Feb 12, 1964

"I guess it's for the best. Everything good ends someday, at least we didn't die in a plane crash. And it was pretty cool of them to let me keep the songs, they didn't even put up a fight. Only a real musician cares enough about music to fight for it, and even though I love them, the guys aren't real musicians. None of them can keep time. And Jim is a fag anyway…"

The Jacksaw joined a number of groups after the Hooters, such as "Bubble n' Squeak," "The Dung Beatles," and "The Five Stars" (which broke up after three members left, and it was decided that "The Two Stars" didn't have quite the same ring). Eventually, however, the Jacksaw abandoned the conventional "band" format, opting for solo performance as his medium. He came to see music as a voice which could enlighten, and enrich, and which should not be drowned out by other voices. This concern was compounded by much the same problem he had had with the Hooters: the difficulty for lesser musicians to keep pace with the rapid changes of complex, almost unintelligible rhythm he used.

June 31, 1962

"…This was the third drummer this week, and none of them can play. The only thing he had to say was that I should buy a metro-gnome[sic]. I guess it's some kind of robot drummer that can actually PLAY…"

Despite warnings from others that a lone guitarist/singer could never make it without backup instruments of some kind, the Jacksaw pressed on. Despite a lack of commercial success, he was never discouraged from taking new and innovative steps in his art, breaking new ground as a musician and a performer, and rewriting the rules of rock n' roll with a sparkling, fluorescent pink marker. He went through many periods. There was a time in the early eighties when he decided that lyrics detracted from his message, and chose instead to whistle all of his songs. His attempt to teach a parrot the lyrics to "I am a parrot," is still considered a groundbreaking, though unsuccessful musical endeavor. His trademark song "Teargas," still brings tears to the eyes of his fans, when properly accompanied, and his brief flirtation with underwater performance garnered him the nickname "waterboy," (along with "dolphin-killer," among those who do not appreciate his genius) long before the Adam Sandler movie made it a household name.

Later in life, Leonard Felinschitz (once again under his birth name) even realized some political aspirations. His party, MUFF (Musicians United Formal Front), though never officially getting on the ballot (some say, due to the unfortunate and unintentional double-entendre of the acronym), made a strong write-in showing in Britain's parliamentary elections of 1987.

He died, an unsung hero, at the age of 51, of laughter, while reading a poorly written parody of a tribute, something I'm sure there is no danger of ever happening to you.

Scoring your performance: Add up the number of paragraphs you read before realizing that your leg was being pulled; if it is one or less, you are lying; if it is more than six, you need to lie to yourself.