Bud Mayhem, 55, aka Harry Archibald Mayhue Jr., died Tuesday, Oct. 22, at St. Joseph's Hospital in Tampa. He spent a period of several weeks in the hospital this year due to a chronic illness. His family could not be reached for comment.
The Pittsburgh native not only shared the same hometown and finger-in-the-socket spiky white hair as pop-art guru Andy Warhol — he too was a connoisseur of pop culture and idiosyncratic human/social rituals. As frontman and founder of the The Strange Agents in the 1980s, he pioneered Tampa's art-punk scene and helped keep Tampa weird with his art installations, films and participation in the Ybor Festival of the Moving Image as well as Ybor's Artist and Writers Group.
"Bud was the very definition, to his core creative being, of 'Iconoclast,'" said friend and collaborator David Audet of the Ybor Artist Writers Group.
Bud also had a show on WMNF in the 1980s that played far out music that could be considered a precursor to what you might hear at the Venture Compound and other vanguard arts venues nowadays.
"He made an important impression on me," said Laura Taylor, WMNF marketing and development director and DJ of the Wednesday night show Surface Noise. "The first time I ever heard the Residents and Snakefinger. There weren't many into experimental music in this area, much less owning an electro theremin."
His repertoire included a song about a mathematical entity, called "The Bessel Function Song."
I, myself, knew Bud for around 14 years. He would let me and a boyfriend circa 13 years ago sneak in for free at the Channelside movie theater where he worked in the late '90s and early 2000s. I met him at his Northeast Seminole Heights home, decorated with mannequins and a wide assortment of old knickknacks, in 2000.
Always reveling in the bizarre and tacky, his famous Dead Pool parties on Halloween enlisted guests to predict which celeb would die the following year. The winner would be honored at the following year's celebration. At his last party, Bud dressed as "Chillary" Clinton. It's quite fitting and bittersweet that we'd be saying goodbye to him during the Halloween season.
Dr. Mayhem, as he was sometimes called, had a variety of jobs. He even worked as a bodyguard for Ronald McDonald during the fast food mascot's local appearances. He joked about protecting the clown from menacing children.
As much as Bud was outrageous, he was a kind and gentle soul; polite, clever, sassy and, overall, amiable to be around.
He moved into the North Street Compound house after me, in 2002, which was previously occupied by Kelly Benjamin, Rochelle Renford, Lee Devanas and other art-scene Tampanians. Bud and I last chatted two years ago at a memorial party for compound neighbor Bob Wieboldt. I was planning a CL Story Time with the "fate and fortune" theme. He expressed interest in telling a story about how he met a friend who was born on the same day and block as he in Pittsburgh, years later in Tampa Bay, but he never returned my calls and emails to follow up. Looking back, that may have been aroun
d the time he began to fall ill.
In just about any circumstance, Bud was impossible to pin down. Even now, there's little trace of him or his band Strange Agents left on the internet. As far as images go, these MySpace photos and some old performance photos on Facebook are all that remain.
Bud Mayhem's far-out humor, congenial ways and parties will be missed by many. Tampa has lost a one-of-a-kind artist and persona.
Bud's memorial will be at Tampa Theatre on Thursday, Oct 30. Doors open at 4:30 pm for folks to gather. Memorial begins at 5:15. Since Halloween was Bud's favorite holiday, costumes are encouraged, especially dressing up as Bud; he would have loved that.
