By Jef With One F
By Rocks Off
By Chris Lane
By Angelica Leicht
By Corey Deiterman
By Angelica Leicht
By Corey Deiterman
There's nothing like death to give a rising rock and roll star instant status as a legend. Ritchie Valens, who died in the plane crash that killed Buddy Holly and the Big Bopper, is considered such even though he had only two Top 40 hits. The legacies of Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix and numerous other stars all, to a certain extent, depend on the simple fact that they met their maker with potential to spare. Tragedy even glorifies the talentless. After all, few people remember Glen Matlock, the original bassist of the Sex Pistols and composer of much of their repertoire. Meanwhile, his sorry replacement, Sid Vicious, who died of a heroin overdose surrounded by accusations that he killed his girlfriend, is deified as a prince of the punk movement.
So it makes perfect sense that when Bobby Fuller's badly beaten, gasoline-soaked body was found inside his mother's car on a hot July afternoon in 1966, the 23-year-old Baytown native was assured of a place in rock history. The death had all the makings of a true-crime thriller. Both Fuller and the vehicle in which he was found had been missing for 14 hours before both were discovered in a vacant lot next to his apartment building. The singer -- best known for his mid-'60s hit "I Fought the Law" -- had been dead for at least three hours when he was discovered, yet two of the artist's friends claimed the car wasn't even in the lot shortly before 5 p.m., when the body was found. Weird, to say the least.
For their part, members of the Los Angeles Police Department demonstrated their usual mastery of forensics, failing to dust the car for fingerprints and discarding an empty gasoline can found in the back seat. Subsequently, the LAPD ruled Fuller's death a suicide, stating, "there was no evidence of foul play" despite the bruises on the singer's face, chest and shoulders (eyewitnesses' reports also said his finger was broken). The L.A. County coroner's office proved no more competent, determining the cause of death as "asphyxia due to inhalation of gasoline." Really now, how does one accidentally douse himself with gasoline? Then again, this was Los Angeles.
Even more details surfaced after Unsolved Mysteries aired a segment on the case in 1996. But what actually happened still remains a matter of conjecture; there are as many theories about Fuller's demise as there are about Marilyn Monroe's. Some say he was snuffed out by a mob-connected club owner, jealous because Fuller had been hanging around the guy's girlfriend. Others suggest that the death was the work of a devious financial backer who held an insurance policy on Fuller's life. Or, just maybe, an envious member of the Bobby Fuller Four -- which was about to disband when its leader was found dead -- was somehow involved. One misguided soul even called Unsolved Mysteries claiming Elvis Presley did it.
But with all the fuss about Fuller's death, little energy has been expended on evaluating his proper place in rock history. Hendrix's place in music history was clear when he died, as was that of Morrison, Joplin and even infamous Who drummer Keith Moon. But Fuller had yet to carve out a unique musical niche when he passed away. He had a mere two Top 40 hits to his credit, and like Valens, he appeared to be on the rise before tragedy struck. So the questions remain. Was he an important figure whose death overshadowed his contributions? Was he an innovator? Or was he merely a run-of the-mill sum of his influences who happened to meet with a tragic fate?
The Del-Fi label's new three-CD set Never to Be Forgotten: The Mustang Years, tries to address those questions. But in the process, it raises as many questions as it answers. Forgotten assembles everything the Bobby Fuller Four recorded for the Mustang imprint from 1964 through 1966. It features more than 40 studio cuts (including singles, album cuts, stereo versions, alternate takes and unreleased tracks) spread over two discs. The third CD, Celebrity Night at PJ's, a 1965 live release previously available only on import, is little more than a quaint souvenir. As on the label's previous Fuller box set, Shakedown! The Texas Tapes Revisited, Del-Fi does a superior job with the packaging and liner notes.
More than anything, Never to Be Forgotten demonstrates that Fuller was at an artistic crossroads when he died. As an interpretive force, he was surprisingly versatile, able to tackle everything from Buddy Holly and the Beatles to pre-hippie folk and Beach Boys-style surf music. But while this wonderful singer and solid guitarist was certainly adept at drawing from his influences, he had yet to find his own musical vision. In most respects, Fuller was still in his creative infancy, which makes his death all the more tragic. His best songs -- the classic "I Fought the Law," in particular -- hint at his full-blown star potential.
A worthy gauge of Fuller's potential is the collection's title track, "Never to Be Forgotten," a great single that failed to chart in America. Announcing itself with a rousing, surf-cowboy guitar riff and a propulsive 4/4 beat, the song highlights Fuller's lilting vocals, the band's stunning sense of dynamics and an ambitious, if bottom-heavy, Phil Spectorish production. The tune's euphoric chorus is proof that Fuller was something special, even if he had a lot to learn.