Stevo by Starlight

Early last week, something terrible happened in the streets of Eureka that took the life of a man. I am not going to share the details of his passing. But don’t mistake this for an obituary, with vague allusions to death because this isn’t about death at all. This is about life, specifically the life of that man, as told to me in impressions by those qualified to speak on it, a few of the ones with whom he shared that life. I am writing about Stevo Vidnovic, aka Stevo Rama, aka Artimis, the indentured servant of the Great Dr. Fate. Artist, multi-instrumental musician, actor, cartoonist and storyteller, that last position perhaps being the central thread which tied his life’s work together. This, according to his friends, who, despite being so shocked by the freshness of their grief that they would often slip into speaking of him in the present tense, were kind enough to share their memories and feelings about him, a pastiche of notions that formed a surprisingly clear and congruent image for an outsider like myself. Out of respect for their loss, I am not going to put any of them in the spotlight by name and will instead share, both for the sake of those who knew him and for those who missed out on that blessing, the impressions I collected. This isn’t a biography either, by the way, but a shot at an ode, like a painting, a tune in the wind, and reams of lyrics belched out by exhaust fumes and storm clouds alike.

I am told he was elegant, a man who walked between being the center of attention and a thoughtful listener, a heckler and a cheerleader, with impeccable grace. He was very funny, too. For instance, in the dour anti-drug days of D.A.R.E. programs and three victimless strikes used as carrots and sticks by square, tight-ass lawmakers, he would be heard to say: “They’re saying you should Just Say No … this is wrong. You should always instead say, ‘No thank you.'”

His spirituality was not dogmatic, but fiercely loving and human. He kept alive the memory of one friend’s brother who died in his youth by making a point to speak about him often and recall memories of him like the stories of a living soul. He sang Christmas songs louder than the other carolers and was tuned into a delicate cosmic energy that he felt allowed him to communicate with lovers and friends like bespoke frequencies from the tune “Radar Love.” He went through many phases: a punk, a studio hawk, a live rocker with a jet blue-black dyed mane, a groovy imbecile and a thin man with a monstrous appetite that fed the massive turbines of his personality, an aura that stayed with him always. Eventually he became an old man and enjoyed being that character, too. His creativity was a yodeling love directed outward, constantly expressing itself as encouragement to his many bandmates and friends to make something. More music, more art, more, more, more. He demanded more fun and more beat-up or upbeat sounds from his fellow conspirators. He was a lighthouse illuminating the unique coastline of his outer perch as well as amplifying the waves of radiant brilliance in his people, whether they knew of that brilliance or not. Writers speak of artists consumed by a fiery passion, but it seems to me that his fire destroyed nothing, instead forging nearly anything his dark and funky muses demanded from the wide and whimsical factory of his many talents.

He was legendary and is now a legend, moving back and forth now from memories to memorials, from a life lived to a life kept alive by those who loved him, and who will never, I suspect, completely give up the present tense when sharing their stories about this ultimate storyteller. I hope the maintenance of that present tense will change fuels for them someday, no longer powered by grief but by the aura of the man himself, just out of view, in every room, heckling, cajoling and listening. Heroes pass into myths by way of constellations, becoming luminous outlines in the darkness, lights shared by comrades and strangers alike. I hope that I, an outsider, but by the grace of his story no stranger, have helped describe some of the shine from this bizarre, howling and beautiful new Constellation Stevo.

Have a bright week.

Thursday

Start your weekend entertainment early with two free live music gigs, each helmed by gentlemen named Jeff, and both happening around 8 p.m. At the Logger Bar you will find music of singer-songwriter and band man about town Jeff Landen, while at the Basement you can double your listening pleasure with acoustic/electric duo the Jeff Jolly Band.

Friday

Ziggy Alberts is an indie folk singer-songwriter from Australia, whose easy-listening, largely acoustic tunes have earned him an international following that he is working on extending into the States. If you are interested in giving his songs of ecological preservation and the simple joys of life an ear or two, roll through the Arcata Theatre Lounge at 8 p.m. ($35).

Saturday

If you feel like learning something before grooving out, go to keet.org to register for a seat at the Arcata Playhouse for a free screening of the new documentary We Want the Funk! about the history of that groovy, butt-rattling genre of music. Afterward, you can enjoy a set of some of that good stuff live, with local heroes Claire Bent and Citizen Funk on tap for tunes. The fun starts at 7 p.m., which should give you enough time, if you still feel like dancing, to head over to Humbrews after 8:30 p.m. to catch local Afro-Cuban octet Timbata blowing up the dance floor for just $10.

Sunday

This column’s new venue alert is blaring again, this time for Havana, the joint that has replaced the dearly departed Plaza Grill. Today’s action involves a Drag Brunch hosted by the fantastic Mr. Gino and featuring performances by Komboujia, Cocky Muffington, Olivia Gambino and more. Forty bucks get you the performance plus a full meal with coffee or tea and vegan and gluten-free options available. This over-18 event starts at 11 a.m., and it is first-come-first-serve seating, so don’t be dawdling.

Monday

It’s not just Metal Monday tonight at Savage Henry Comedy Club tonight, but the first of a two-night binge of heavy music, with doors at 7 p.m. and tickets running from $5-$20, sliding scale. Tonight’s gladiators are Martinez hardcore and powerviolence band Throat Rip, along with local shredders Psyop Victim and Gourmandizer, with a fourth act likely TBA.

Tuesday

As promised yesterday, Savage Henry Comedy Club is hosting a second night of heavy music at 7 p.m., starring Cleveland hardcore band Piss Me Off, along with local punk act Kult of Indifference. That’s the lineup as of press time, but I would expect one to two more bands to be added by the night of. Expect the same $5-$20 sliding scale door price.

Wednesday

There are a lot of the usual open mic and regular weekly gigs going on tonight, all of which I have reported on some iteration of in this exact space in the past, so rather than wade through the bog to pick some berries for you, I will instead direct you to the calendar to find some treats (even non-musical) for yourself. Happy hunting.

Collin Yeo (he/him) is a Humbolshevik.

This article appears in ‘Fire Teaches Us Many Lessons’.