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8 Musicians Killed by Their Doctors

Posted on by Steve Levandoski

Being the physician of a rock star can’t be easy. According to UCLA Heath, “VIP syndrome is the tendency of some physicians to provide special privileges to a patient because of their status or wealth.” Celebrity Doctors know that if they don’t prescribe whatever their patient wants, they will just hire another doctor who will play ball. Here is a list of blank musicians who were allegedly suspected of foul play.

Michael Jackson (1958-2009) The king of pop was permanently dethroned by Dr. Conrad Murphy, who served two years out of a four year sentence for prescribing propofol as a sleep aid, leading to Jackson’s cardiac arrest. 

Prince (1958-2016) Proving that a black musician seeing a doctor is as dangerous as a white one flying in a single engine plane, Prince Nelson Rogers died as a result of an illegal Fentanyl prescription from Dr.  Michael Schulenberg. The artist formally known as living’s family sued Dr. Michael Schulenberg who allegedly prescribed fentanyl and failed to treat his addiction and won a settlement.

Keith Moon (1946-1978) No one was shocked when Who drummer Keith Moon “The Loon” died of a drug overdose after going out to see the Vincent Price movie “The Abominable Dr. Phibes.” But no one expected the substance in question to be a prescription drug to help Moon quit drinking, Heminevrin. Dr. Geoffrey Dymond gave Moon a bottle of the pills, usually reserved for inpatients at hospitals, with the instructions to take one whenever Keith wanted a drink. Moon misunderstood, and since he wanted thirty two drinks that night, he took thirty two pills that killed him. 

Chris Cornell (1964-2017) The Soundgarden vocalist’s family also settled out of court, accusing Dr. Robert Koblin of recklessly prescribing lorazepam, leading to the singer’s suicide. Conspracy theorists also claim that Cornell’s suicide was faked and he was murdered along with Chester Bennington for exposing child trafficking. 

Glen Fry (1948-2016) Cindy Fry filed a wrongful death lawsuit against Mount Sinai Hospital and Dr. Steven Itzkowitz in New York for failing to treat his ulcerative colitis and pneumonia. 

Elvis Presley (1935-1977) Poor Elvis didn’t even know he was a coke fiend. His doctor, George C. Nichopoulos told him the liquid cocaine that he swabbed up his nose was “nerve medication.” I’m sure it worked for his nerves. The king died on his porcelain throne from an enlarged heart from prescription drug abuse and poor overall health. 

Clarence Clemons (1942-2011) The E Street band’s saxophonist’s family sued Robert J. Jacobson, David W. Dodson, and Keith Meyer for taking him off blood thinners before his carpal tunnel surgery, leading to his fatal stroke.

Ludwig Van Beethoven (1770-1827) The classical composer’s liver cirrhosis was hastened by large amounts of lead in his medications and wine until he was done, done, done, doooooone.

The Best One-Armed Drummers Besides the Def Lepard Guy.

Posted on by Steve Levandoski

Victor “Moulty” Moulton

How he lost it: Moulty lost his left hand due to a homemade pipe bomb incident in his youth. (I’m lucky I only lost my eyebrows.)

How he overcame it. He had a prosthetic that could hold a stick.

Main Project: The Barbarians.

Website: https://www.imdb.com/name/nm2191338/bio/

Moulty was the one-armed drummer who started it all. He played with The Barbarians, straight outta Cape Cod. My uncle-in-law partied with him in the 60’s and says he’s “a hell of a good guy.” Moutly was name checked by the Ramones in the song “Do You Remember Rock and Roll Radio?” with the line, “Will you remember Jerry Lee, John Lennon, T.Rex and Ol’ Moulty?”

Jason Barnes 

How he lost it: He lost it from a severe electrical shock.

How he overcame it: He’s got a robot arm.

Main project: Cybrnetx

Website: https://www.jasonbarnes.me/about/

Besides being a drummer and music producer, Jason Barnes also holds the Guiness book of World Records holder for most drum beats in one minute. He controls his robot arm using the remaining muscles in his arm. The two sets of sticks on his prosthetic arm create unique  instrumental patterns, not unlike how Tony Iommi’s tone was influenced by the Black Sabbath guitar player’s prosthetic finger tips. It really is a shame that so many musicians get factory jobs. Will Jason Barnes’ be an early Neurolink adopter? 

Jack Thomas-

How he lost it: He lost it due to a faulty conveyor belt at work when he was still a teenager, and immediately jumped to physical therapy with a kick-ass attitude. 

How he overcame it: No idea how he does what he does one handed. He’s just really fucking good.

Main project: Drumeo

Website: https://www.jackthomasmusic.ca

This guy is an absolute beast. He’s involved with Drumeo, so you can see him operating the mouse lending vibe to the poor bastard during the “Hears Blank for the First Time” series. That’s where they find a technically demanding song that a drummer has never heard before and must improv a drum part on the spot on camera. Sadistic, clean, fun for the whole family. 

Buddy Rich (For One Tour)

How he broke it: Playing stickball like a 1930’s orphan.

How he overcame it: The same way Jack Thomas did, just playing twice as fast with one hand.

Main projects: The Buddy Rich band and the Buddy Rich Bus Tapes.

Website: https://thebuddyrichband.com/

If you are wondering how Buddy developed his famous one handed drum roll, here is Buddy in his own words, “There was a lot of comment about that period in 1948 when I played with one hand, because one arm was in a sling. I understand Jo Jones said: ‘If that heals, he ought to break it again.’ That was a thing born out of necessity. I was playing handball one morning when I fell, and broke my arm in three places. So they rushed me to the doctor; he straightened my arm out and put it in a cast. Well, the band had been booked for months in advance. And with 19 people on the payroll, I couldn’t very well just say: “We’ll be off for three months.” There was too much involved to cancel our bookings, We were in Dayton, Ohio; we played a one-nighter that night. The following week we played the Apollo Theatre in New York, and immediately after closing there we opened at the Paramount Theatre.

It was just a matter of having to do it. What the hell’s the difference anyway? If you can play with two hands, you can play with one. If you don’t have any, you play with your feet. Which I did, too, using bass drums, in the Paramount show.”

Rick Allen

How he lost it: Contrary to popular belief, Rick wasn’t drunk when he had the car accident that took his arm. He was driving in England trying to pass someone.

How he overcame it. He utilized electronic drum pads that he could play with his feet.

Main project: Def Leppard.

Website: https://rickallen.com/

 I know I said drummer’s besides Def Leppard’s Rick Allen, but this guy is the one-armed drummer poster child. Between world tours, Rick Allen is also a celebrated photographer and is the recipient of the Humanitarian Award by Maria Shriver’s Best Buddies of CA. 

When he lost the arm, Lars Ulrich from Metallica asked Rich to borrow his Ludwig Black Beauty, the Rolex of snare drums, and thanked him on the album credits. And he’s still rock’in. 

I Completed Lil Jon’s Meditation Album

Posted on by Steve Levandoski

When I first found out about Lil Jon’s “Total Meditation” album, I laughed. The Youtube comments were amazing. “He’s gone from crunk to monk” and “sanskreet, skreet, skreet, skreet skreet”. But Lil Jon took this endeavor seriously, hiring the best in the business to help him sculpt a credible meditation practice as a way to help himself work out his recent divorce. Physician, heal thyself. 

There are two advantages that famous rappers have over the usual mediation guru. The first is that rap transfers to voice narration like college credits. It’s like their usual gig but slower and they don’t need to rhyme.  Proper mic technique isn’t usually covered in spiritual retreats. The second is a dream team of productions who know nuances of a Neumann microphone versus a Shure.

Producer Douglas David has some Grammys under his belt, as well as Aretha Franklin broadcasts. Billboard Magazine lists him as one of the top philanthropists in the world. 

The members of the recording engineering team of Wayne Sunderland and Nathan “Slade” Smith have heavy reps in the audio industry. Sunderland is a mastering Engineer at Suture Mastering, and Slade Smith has collaborated with Lil Jon his whole life, being his son. DJ Slade is a sought after DJ in his own right.

The mixes are perfect and his voice has enough cool tricks to keep one engaged. Mixing engineer Trammell Starks has toured with Patti Labelle and Roberta Flack as a keyboardist, produced albums for the London Symphony Orchestra, and composed over 40 songs for the Weather Channel. 

Lil Jon brought in a ringer to help him out with the content. Kabir Sehgal is a jazz bassist, former JPMorgan Vice President, published author, navy veteran, composer, and Grammy Award-winning producer. He has produced albums for Deepak Chopra, who is huge in the meditation game. Like appearing on Oprah huge.

While none of the practices break new ground, they are a nice collection of the old tried and true ancient techniques with a modern flavor. Lil Jon and Kabir Sehgal cover everything from anxiety to grieving in bite-sized ten minute chunks. Sure, Lil John gets a little cheesy sometimes with whispered call and response, but his enthusiasm makes up for it.

My favorite session is the breathing one. In the wrong hands, this exercise can be a bit boring, but Lil Jon captures my attention the entire time. I also like the one based on nurturing friendship. We are all guilty of not giving one hundred percent in our relationships sometimes, and Mr. Jon is right to call us out and remind us that a little relationship maintenance can go a long way. I’m hoping my friends notice a difference with my moody ass since I’ve taken to self care. The things I do for those people.

After completing the circuit can I say that Lil Jon meditations are worth the ride? As an experienced meditator, I’d say yes. These are the perfect gateway meditations, especially for people who hate meditation. And if Lil Jon helps just one person on their journey to self actualization, then I must say “OKAAAAAAAYYYYY!”

I’m Never Reading a Real Book on the Bus Again

Posted on by Steve Levandoski

 My bus stop at the corner of 15th and JFK reeked of blunt-weed and car exhaust. Right across the street was City Hall with William Penn perched on top, a classic example of covert phallic architecture. Mr. Penn’s hand transformed into another appendage at a certain vantage point, the same one where I waited for my bus after work every weekday, reading a book or using the Kindle phone app.

Audio Visual Technicians such as myself had to wear show-black in order to fade in the background: a black collared polo shirt, black cargo pants, black sneakers, and black socks. And yes, there were managers who noticed the flash of white socks like a fresh pink mohawk.

When the 27 bus finally snaked around City Hall, I put on my black N95 knockoff mask, climbed aboard, greeted the driver like any good citizen would, and then swiped my pass. 

Bus seats aren’t easy to come by in rush-hour, especially ones that aren’t covered in fluids, bodily or otherwise, so I was grateful that I found one in the back of the bus. I made myself comfortable and pulled the paperback version of The Werewolf by Montague Summers from my black laptop bag. The cover features a medieval drawing of a werewolf holding a damsel in its jaws. The nice thing about e-books is that no one else knows what you are reading. It’s one less avenue for small talk. I’m not trying to make friends. I don’t even like the ones I have. That day, I broke my own rule and broadcast my reading taste to my fellow passengers. 

I was just getting to the good part about the werebadgers when I heard a voice from across from me say, “Hey buddy, are you reading about werewolves?” 

Oh no. I looked up from my book, and saw a middle-aged man, about my average height and pounchy build, staring at me.

“Yeah,” I said, my eyes breaking eye contact and returning to the page as a subtle hint.

Silence.

“That’s some occult shit.” He nodded to himself as if confirming a theory. “That’s crazy.”

 He dressed like he had a loving family member who’d taken him to Goodwill and curated his outfits.

”That’s crazy,” he repeated, irritated this time.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, crazy.” There was a slyness in his eye, like a magician reaching into his hat. “Crazy coincidence that I was just talking to a lady up front about the occult and had to move because I’m a Christian now and can’t talk about that shit anymore. I’ve found Jesus again.”

“Huh!” I nodded. 

As a policy, I rarely disagree with anyone crazier than me, unless they are discussing how spitting on me would be a good time. 

He smiled knowingly. “And who do I happen to sit beside but some guy reading an occult book. Just goes to show you.”

There was an awkward silence before I caved in and took the bait just to end it. “What’s that?”

I never felt afraid of the guy, which was good because I’m about as menacing as celebrity chef Alton Brown in lederhosen. He had kindness in his eyes, but the kindness dimmed with apprehension. The look of a formally gullible person who had been burned before. He reminded me of somebody.

His smile grew as he finally showed his hand. “Just goes to show you. The devil is everywhere.”

Wait. Hold up! Did he mean . . .?  I looked down at my all black wardrobe, like a business casual Johnny Cash. Oh great. This man thinks I’m a demon. Fallen angels tend to be handsome, but to be fair, I had a mask on. How am I going to bullshit my way out of this one? How do you explain that you are not a hand of Satan, but just a nerd reading some book that Misfits/Samhain frontman, Glenn Danzig, said was cool in an interview? 

To get into character I glowered and then smiled a wicked grin beneath my mask as if I were downplaying my anger after his cunning defeated of me. As if I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“Yeah,” I said, adding an artificial twinge of disappointment and balefulness to my voice, eyes on fire. 

“Enjoy your book, buddy,” he said to the blue-eyed devil holding the bad book before turning his attention elsewhere, signaling that I had been dismissed. 

And I did enjoy my book. He didn’t bother me again for the next half an hour. I pondered if Philly had wereroaches, because one of those little suckers can carry a whole Italian hoagie away. When I got off of my stop— which in retrospect was stupid, because I should’ve gotten off a couple before or after so he wouldn’t know where I lived— I heard him yell “Hey, buddy!” 

He waved goodbye naughtily and his voice trumpeted confidence.“Have a good one!”

“Have a good one, ” I echoed, but my tone inferred, “I’ll get you next time, foolish mortal!”

I also told the bus driver to have a good one, like a good citizen in my human voice, and then stormed off in defeat with a gait of devilish arrogance, not breaking character until the bus disappeared. 

When I told my coworkers the story the next day, they agreed. “Steve is totally getting stabbed with a curvy knife soon. Something ceremonial looking.”

So far, so good though. I’ve never seen him again.