That one can be a disciple of the Lord and at the same time such a goddamned devil, a pop culture icon of the century and a bad role model, a hero and a poisonous bastard, that’s still hard to put together. In the present case of the singer, pianist and stage performer Jerry Lee Lewis, this was even considered a kind of running gag for a long time: Lewis, the most dangerous rock’n’roller of all fiery, singed times, who would still outlive us all. The man they nicknamed “The Killer”. Although or precisely because he once shot his bass player in the chest (the man survived) and, according to some well-founded suspicions, was not entirely uninvolved in the death of two of his seven wives.
Jerry Lee Lewis has died at home in Mississippi at the age of 87. And if what he seems to have believed all his life is halfway true, then he has either gone to heaven or hell, but not both at the same time. Into heaven, where the gospel songs came from that had inspired him so much as a young man that you could hear them jubilantly deep in his singing until the end. Or to hell, the mental home of all the border-breaking excesses and self-destruction that he brought to the world of light music like no other. As myths, fantasies and crimes on record. You have to think carefully about what exactly you want to call after Jerry Lee Lewis.
The greatest image of him that will remain is of course the burning piano. It’s the blazing pictogram, the essence of what Lewis planted in early rock ‘n’ roll and, in that sense, in all of later rock ‘n’ roll: the moment, tangled like a fuse in boogie hits like “Great Balls of Fire”, “Whole Lotta Shakin Goin’ On” or “Breathless” in which the music begins to consume itself as it is played. The millisecond after which there is no turning back from the devastating pull of what started out as nice dance entertainment for young people.
It is said to have actually happened in March 1958, at a show in New York. Jerry Lee Lewis was known for playing the piano with his feet and elbows on stage, even climbing it, causing the riot-hungry youth pack to completely freak out. When he found out that Chuck Berry would be the headliner after him, he doused the grand piano with lighter fluid mid-song and set it on fire. And when he left, he called out to Berry, who was waiting in the wings: “I’m curious what else you want to add here!” The story is probably fictitious. Nevertheless, it remains one of the world’s best rock’n’roll lies.
Many other episodes from Lewis’ frenzied risk biography have been certified by the police. First and foremost, the revelation that his (third) wife, Myra Gale Brown, was not only his cousin, but also 13 years young. The uproar about it in the late 1950s put his career on hold for the time being. Brown divorced him in 1970, partly on the grounds that Lewis had tormented her mentally and physically. An accusation that was also made by other of his partners, but contributed far less to the ostracism of the former superstar than the violated sacrament of marriage.
The heyday of the farmer’s son, who was born in Louisiana in 1935, was irretrievably over. At the end of the 1960s, however, a new record company positioned him gently and unerringly in the country music segment – and landed a whole series of top ten hits where people think differently about family breeding and tax evasion anyway. In 1986 Lewis was inducted into the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame with full honors, and in 1989 Hollywood stars Dennis Quaid and Winona Ryder re-enacted the story of underage marriage for popcorn audiences in the film “Great Balls Of Fire”. The man at the burning piano was suddenly regarded as a great survivor and witness to a wild time, the real toxicity of which tended to be outdated. In 2010 Lewis released a new album, at 75, called “Mean Old Man”. Nasty old man.
But what should you say when you say goodbye? Jerry Lee Lewis, who passed away on Friday, may he find peace. And we do not forget how imminently dangerous the danger that tickles us as the sweet charm of evil can be. The best way to do this is to hang up: “Live at the Star-Club, Hamburg”, the incredible concert recording from 1964. At least that’s heaven.