Henry Rollins has a wicked sense of humor. The Rollins Band frontman (formerly of seminal hardcore band Black Flag) makes sporadic TV appearances as a rock pundit, giving his sharp opinions in punchy sound bytes, but the main outlet for his singular brand of comic storytelling remains his spoken word tours.Armed with bottled water and a microphone, Rollins stalks the stage as he spins variously sordid and thoughtful yarns, riffs on the sexes and imparts one-liners of wisdom. Spoken word, the popular term for coffee shop poets waxing profound, is a misnomer for what he does. Neither is it fitting to call Rollins' shows stand-up. There's little pretense and there are no true punch lines. Instead, laughs come throughout the stories, rife with wry observations, physical comedy, self-deprecating gaffs, biting sarcasm and antagonistic jabs.
At 42, Rollins draws material from as far back as his anxious, Ritalin-doped childhood in Washington, D.C., and as recently as this morning's paper. His best tales, however, are of experiences only Rollins would have, living life as he does like one big tour: talking to Tom Waits, hanging out with Bangkok taxi drivers, auditioning for a movie role he knows he won't get, being quasi kidnapped by an unlicensed pilot and opening for Iron Maiden.
He speaks in an endearingly self-effacing manner that shows the complexity of this muscular, black-clad rock guy. It does seem, however, that Rollins has some difficulty balancing roles as geeky intellectual, alpha male bonehead and self-righteous artist. The beauty is that he has a terrific sense of irony and makes light of himself, tattoos and all.
In 1981, Rollins moved to L.A. to join Black Flag (a pivotal career change from Baskin-Robbins manager) and began keeping journals that he'd later use to create Get in the Van, a documentary book and Grammy Award-winning double album. Shortly after the move, he also began giving readings at small venues, opening for local poets by reading prose and poems from his journals. Because of his presence in the music scene and the candor of his performances, he gradually outshined the poets and drew increasingly larger crowds.
Eventually he broke from reading his writing and started talking directly to audiences because he didn't like being limited to what was on the page. At that point, the nature of the shows changed from spoken word to Welcome to Henry's Warped Mind.
To get a taste of Rollins' early writing, check out The First Five, a reprint of his first five books (High Adventure in the Great Outdoors, Bang!, Art to Choke Hearts, Pissing in the Gene Pool and One From None. They're harsh, direct, angry, sardonic, cynical and really very cathartic to read, but the repetition of language, similarity in sentiment and vagueness of subject matter eventually make you want to just go get some fresh air.
For a more cogent Rollins, read Solipsist, a nicely consistent volume of gritty prose and poetry. His latest, Smile, You're Traveling, is also solid; it's a chronicle of the year spent rehearsing, recording and touring for what was thought to be the Rollins Band's last-ever album, Come in and Burn.
What ties together all of Rollins' creative output — the music, the spoken word, the writing — is the way he expresses himself and his appreciation for the truth.
Bottom line is, Rollins calls things like he sees them — be it George W. Bush's bullshit-speak, the worthlessness of rave music or the shortcomings of the average American — and it makes for one of the most entertaining shows out there.
This article appears in Feb 12-18, 2003.