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Tuesday, March 24, 2015

The Lonely Death of Chris Hardman

Full disclosure: The cause of Chris Hardman's death has not been revealed as yet. The rumor mill seems to be slanting towards suicide because he was only 24 and because he suffered from chronic depression. This post is coming from someone who contemplates suicide a lot, so it is definitely going to be slanted in that direction as well since its almost goes hand in hand with the processing of grief to me. Hopefully I don't disrespect his memory with this post. No matter how he died, the fact remains that he is gone and will be missed.

I was scrolling aimlessly through my Facebook feed today only to see something that made me sit up in shock and exclaim loudly "Oh no!" So loudly, in fact, that my niece who was doing her homework in the other room asked "What's wrong?" "Someone I like died." I said, unsure how to word to a child the feeling of a celebrity you admire passing on. When her brother asked what happened, she told him "Uncle Steven's friend died." which struck me funny in the moment only because it hit the nail on the head about how odd it is to be sad when someone you don't know personally dies. Technically, you really shouldn't be mourning them since you didn't really KNOW them to mourn them. But celebrity is funny like that. It gives us a certain sense of knowing somebody even though we only know a certain aspect of them or simply what they chose to share with the world. But when people touch you with their words, or their songs, or their acting they sometimes feel like they become an extended part of your family. I am a fierce fan in that respect. And I am incredibly loyal. Once I become a fan of somebody, I am with them for life. My interest may wax and wane if they're a hard rock artist and they decide to do a polka album one year, but I will never desert them. So I know about feeling bereft when a stranger you happen to admire dies. I can remember crying inconsolably when Princess Diana's funeral took place. She wasn't even a figure of particular importance in the states. But her humanity had touched me. Sometimes that is all it really takes. I corrected my niece, telling her "No its not my friend it was a musician I really liked." and they accepted that but seemed very concerned which was touching. Kids have an amazing knack for being very intuitive and trying to help you but then fucking off when its required and doing somersaults despite the grief in the room. But I was left with the headline. Chris Hardman was dead. Most people in the US probably have no idea who the fuck Chris Hardman was to be blatantly honest. But then thats probably true for a lot of the British musicians and actors I follow who never seem to cross over with Cumberbatch like ease. But I had followed him from the beginning. He started out on Gene Simmons' Rock School which I didn't even watch at the time but remember seeing clips of and being blown away by this kid's talent with a guitar and his attitude. Shortly after the series went off the air, Chris released his first album. He was known for his backwards snapbacks and his punky (but never rude) attitude. The music was almost like All Time Low with more piss and vinegar, as my Dad used to say. Chris had personality to spare. The album didn't do great but produced several minor hits and garnered him a pretty big following on YouTube and MySpace. A few years passed between that and the second album, which featured more writing credits from Chris and an even punkier attitude but weirdly features my favorite song by him a cover of the old Jermaine Stewart classic We Don't Have to Take Our Clothes Off. I say weirdly only because I know in defense of his writing I should pick a song he co-authored as 1 of my faves and also I really really really don't want to defend the meaning of not taking your clothes off to have fun since I believe the exact opposite I want nudity at every turn if possible. But the catchiness of that song is undeniable. That album never really took off virally like the first one had, and after that I'm guessing, though I never heard him say for sure, that he and his record company parted ways as happens with many artists who burn brightly one day and mellow to a glowing ember the next. But I stayed with that ember. Shortly after that Chris was given his own talk show on UK television. As it never properly aired here and you can only find clips on YouTube, I've never seen it in its unadulterated form and I know nothing about how it fared in the ratings or with critics. I believe it lasted for 1 or 2 seasons. But I remember when watching the clips how natural a host he was. Most talk show emcees always strike me like a used car salesman. I particularly hated Jay Leno in that respect. He would throw a few softball questions, plug the person's movie, and voila you had a show. An incredibly bland and boring show, but there you go. Chris wasn't like that, either because he never really attained a level of stardom where he was afraid to lose it all or simply because he was a genuinely nice but interesting person. I remember thinking "Wow these are pretty good questions!". Even if he didn't write them (though I have a feeling he at least had a hand in what was asked) he seemed very confident and honest as a host. He asked what I wanted to hear, he was cool, and I never got the sense that he was trying to sell me a twenty year old Dodge Dart for thirty percent over blue book value. After the show Chris disappeared for a while, presumable to finish school and try to go back to a normal existence. Twitter had become a thing in the intervening years and YouTube had become even more powerful, and I followed Chris on both sites. He was always saying something real or funny. Occasionally he would post songs he was working on. He had a few more brushes with fame in recent years. He performed in the Welcome to Loserville stage play at one point. He did an Attitude naked shoot to show that he had grown up into quite the sexy dude. Ran his own humorous social media campaign to unseat the Simon Cowell Christmas Number One tradition (you probably have to be British to grasp this concept though I sort of understand) with his own song (which I bought though it didn't). He put together a small tour a few years back and played to what seemed like small but adoring crowds judging from the pictures. And he always acknowledged and appreciated the fact that he had gay fans which made me like him even more. He played the infamous G-A-Y nightclub in London and seemed to be thrilled that people of all walks remembered and still enjoyed hearing from him. There were quiet periods in between these career arcs, but he never stopped making music or wanting to share his talent. To be honest, I never really knew about his battle with depression. I wish that I had. Not that I, as a fan, could have done anything, but it would have been nice to know we shared that issue. It must be incredibly hard to go from being on tv all over the world one day to several years later not being able to get record companies to even listen to songs you put your heart and soul into. If that attributed to his depression it makes me sad. Especially since this is a new era for music and the music business where artists can pretty much self-release albums and build a fanbase all on their own.

Here are several clips of Chris performing in recent years, first a beautiful acoustic version of We Don'r Have to Take Our Clothes Off with his friend Tom Mann (who wrote and performed on the Christmas Number One single with him) followed by a lovely solo acoustic number Chris wrote all on his own:



This was the last photo Chris shared on social media several weeks ago. Though he doesn't look ecstatically happy, he certainly doesn't seem like somebody in a deep depression either.


But that is what is so insidious about depression. It makes you put a false smile on your face so that no one else knows your pain. Or it makes you avoid people altogether because you are feeling hopeless and simply don't want to be helped. Despite whatever personal pain he might have been going through, Chris was always quick to make others smile, as evidenced by this tweet from several weeks ago:


But then there was this tweet shortly after, which at first I wasn't sure should be taken seriously since Chris always did have a sarcastic sense of humor:



I did take it seriously, and this was my response to him:



It may seem weird words of comfort and support coming from someone who worries endlessly about what others think and whether or not I matter in this life. But if there's one thing I know how to do it is try to remind others bereft of hope why they should continue to hang on. Its a strange psychosis. I can very literally contemplate and formulate a suicide plan in the morning and in the afternoon try vehemently to talk a friend or loved one out of doing just that. I guess it boils down to not wanting to see people you care about hurt the same way you are. I have no way of knowing whether or not Chris saw my tweet or even cared that it was sent since he didn't respond in any way. But in light of his death, I'm glad I sent it. The outpouring of love from celebrities and fans alike on social media has been lovely. No matter how Chris died, there is a loss. Whether a loss for what might have been, what at one point was, or simply the extinguishing of a light much too bright and far too early is up to you to decide. I feel for his family and friends. For myself, I'm going to take my melancholy and listen to his music tonight. Rock on, Chris, wherever you are. I hope you are finally at peace.

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