Nurse the Hate: Dexter Romweber

 

I learned that Dexter Romweber had died in the way that one does in 2024, a social media post adorned with the tear face emoji.  The news impacted me more than I would have thought.  I wasn't particularily close with Dexter but we had played together ten times or so and he had stayed at my house at least three times.  The impact had something to do with the combination of familiarity, my admiration for him as an artist, and that we are the same age.  Wayne Kramer passes away and you think, "Damn, that's a drag." as you do the mental calculations and remember seeing the footage of Wayne playing the 1968 Democratic Convention as you buffer yourself with the knowledge of "I guess he was pretty old".  Shit.  I remember staying at some college party flophouse in Gainesville Florida with the Flat Duo Jets when we were all in our twenties.  Clock is ticking.

When I think about Dexter it takes me through a Greatest Hits of Indie Rock venues.  Like a lot of people I became aware of the Flat Duo Jets from their scene stealing performances on that "Athens GA Inside Out" documentary.  I cannot stress how many times I played that "Flat Duo Jets" record, it being one of the first examples of how the "rockabilly revival" that was rearing its ugly head was an artistic dead end, and these Flat Duo Jets guys were onto something with their primal energy.  I saw them for the first time when they opened up for The Cramps at the Phantasy Theater.  That's the only time I saw them with Tone on bass, and even that night Dexter was yelling at the poor guy for whatever infractions he had made during the chaotic but great set.  

The next time I saw them was when they played the Babylon A Go Go on some weird package tour with the Chickasaw Mud Puppies.  This is probably 1991 or 92.  I talked to Dexter for the first time that night and I remember thinking "this guy isn't like anyone I've ever met".  He had this raw emotional edge and animal intensity even as we talked about old records.  It was just obvious that he experienced things differently than everyone else, like he was sensitive to things other people didn't notice.  That was right around the same time we were attempting to get the Cowslingers airborne.  Within a few years we had played with them at the Magic Stick in Detroit, the Local 506 in Chapel Hill, The Covered Dish in Gainesville FL, The Grog Shop a couple times, and Stache's in Columbus maybe?  

One night when they stayed at my place in Lakewood, Dexter didn't want to sleep on an available couch or futon and instead slept on the floor in the spare bedroom.  I woke him up to go to a late breakfast at this brunch place near my house as soon as I could corral Crow, and he woke up so completely disheveled and lost that the image stuck in my head.  It was like he had gone 12 rounds with some demon as he had slept.  I named my basset hound Dexter after him when the puppy woke up from a nap at the exact spot on the floor bearing more than just a passing resemblance to Mr. Romweber about a year later.      

That show in Gainesville is one I really remember.  It was one of those Thursday night gigs in a room that was too big for the bill.  The Cowslingers opened.  We had played our way down to the Florida panhandle and I was feeling crispy.  I sat in the back dressing room.  Dexter was in a dark mood, very introverted and was deep in his head.  I just gave him his space and sat there in the quiet.  Eventually Ken walked in and felt the vibe and sat quietly as well.  Crow walked in and flopped down.  It was quiet for a bit until Crow spoke to Dexter.  These two guys had this really quiet caring conversation about their tour, if they should be doing it, and how they felt as if Ken and I weren't there.  They both revealed they felt resigned about the tour but just wanted to make sure the other guy was OK.  It was so genuine.  About an hour later they went out and completely destroyed, closing with a version of "Sing Sing Sing" that lasted 20 minutes + with both of them leaving everything on that stage.  We ended up at some shitty college townhouse where Dexter grabbed a cold shower, threw some clothes on his soaking body, walked through the after hours party like it wasn't there and disappeared into the night with crazed eyes.  

When the Flat Duo Jets ended I was bummed that Dexter seemed so low profile.  I saw him solo a couple times, played with him in Atlanta and somewhere in the Midwest, but he was struggling.  I saw him in a session at Kudzu at Rick Miller's place during that period where it was all just a bit off.  It appeared to me that he found his stride again with the Dexter Romweber Duo with his sister.  That time period produced some great music where his ability to rip the essence of obscure old songs and make them his was reignited.  His spirit seemed lifted to be in the band with her.  I remember an amazing set they played with us at the doomed Jigsaw stage where he played like he was in a sold out stadium.  That guy was the real deal. 

The death of his sister hit him especially hard as I understand it.  He had many disappointments and self inflicted wounds over the years, but the loss of his sister had to be uniquely brutal.  Within a short period he lost his sister, two brothers and his mother like some sort of terrible Southern Gothic curse.  He had a haunted genius quality to him with an inner conflict that must have produced so much of his greatness as well as making the day-to-day life a heavy burden.  I had just found a podcast he had done promoting his latest release "Got A Good Thing Going" a couple weeks ago and bought the record.  It just seemed like he would always be there, doing what he did.  I suppose the ending to his story was what it was always going to be, sad but with an amplified resonance.  

I saw a shaky youtube clip of him doing an instore appearance at a record store.  He stopped between a couple of songs and stalked around the area they had provided him for his performance.  He was talking to the crowd, but to himself really.  He made some awkward jokes and then said, "I'll go a little bit longer.  As long as I can.  I'm not sure what I want out of life any more.  I've done this for over 30 years.  I just don't have any other means...  any other skills... I really don't... and this is the only thing I've had since I was a young man, if you call it a skill.  And it's the only thing that's never left me.  Women have come and gone, but the guitar?  The guitar always stuck around.  So...  anyway..."  And then he went into a sad song facing the back of the room, singing with everything he had.