Dave Rosser, guitarist for the Afghan Whigs, died late June of this year following a battle with inoperable colon cancer. He was 50. In this excerpt from an interview with Salon, he tells just how much he’s going to miss his beautiful friend, as Greg called him on Twitter.
I was in daily contact with him. When we played the Apollo, I gave him a Skype tour of the Apollo. He got to watch the Primavera show, and I got to talk to him on stage, because he was watching. There were a lot of great moments like that. Again, we’ll never forget him. You know, always in my heart, absolutely one of the most perfect souls I’ve ever encountered.
He seriously was just a really incredibly funny, smart, really quick-witted, incredibly clumsy dude. We could do a slapstick reel of every time he spilled, knocked over, broke or lost something. Those stick out in my mind. But I mean, [he was] just a really, really funny motherfucker. To know him was to love him. I never met one person who did not love Dave Rosser. And if you didn’t, you were the problem.
I told this story when we were last down there. He came on the bus last tour, and I had a bowl of popcorn on the floor, and I’m like, “Oh, fuck, here comes Rosser!” I consciously picked the bowl up and put it on the table so he couldn’t kick it over.
He walks past me, and he had a backpack on, and all of the sudden, he turned around and he’s like, “Oh, I forgot to tell you!” He whipped around and the backpack fucking destroyed the bowl of popcorn. It went everywhere. I’m like, “Oh my God, dude. Somehow, you found a way to fuck that popcorn up.” That’s one memory of Dave Rosser that I’ll never forget.
Even despite my cautionary procedure, he subverted it anyway. It was uncanny. Buddha in the china shop. That’s what we called him.