I just received an e-mail from a friend in Birmingham England, telling me that Quentin Crisp died today. He was 90.

Although he had no connection with folk music, he had a tremendous influence on a decision I made 13 years ago, and WISHED I'd made 17 years before that.
I discovered his incredibly witty writing and totally sensible philosophy, long after he'd become "old hat" with his prime audience - the Gay community. I'm sure that when some of my friends saw his books (like "The Naked Civil Servant" and "How to Become a Virgin") strewn around my apartment they thought I'd be making a profound statement about my sexuality any day....which was probably confusing considering how highly I valued the opposite sex. Nope this elderly Englishman had a way of speaking (and writing) to people who saw themselves as "fish out of water". Through humour and good sense he showed us how to find "our own special patch of water, and jump back in".
A simple philosophy really, and I'm sure one that has been advocated thousands of times by hundreds of "serious" thinkers.(which Mr. Crisp certainly would not have called himself) My rephrasing of it would be: Stop hiding what makes you unique. Take that which has embarrassed you all your life, and keep it a secret no more. Share how you feel, not only with friends, but with those you've known only a short time. You may take a few lumps at first, but after a while - though you may have doubts about humanity in general - you will get to know so many wonderful, kind and fascinating individuals, you won't have time to be bored. You'll be a heck of a lot happier too.
It worked for me. I'd always tried to mask severe shyness with a kind of detached cool, and learned an ability to be strategic in situations (romantic or professional) where I might get hurt. In my early 20s, simply playing for a dead-quiet attentive folk audience gave me real stage-fright - which of course I didn't want anyone to know. My horrendous solution was to bury myself in Holiday Inns, fancy hotels, seriously "dangerous" rural bars and roadhouses - places where audiences didn't give a shit whether you played well, only if you played the "right" songs. I'm glad to say that I've forgotten most of those songs, and turned that time of my life into memories alone - some of them pretty funny now. It was damned hard at first to admit that although I was constantly employed at pretty good money I hated what I was doing, for one simple reason: I was a "Folkie", not a night club entertainer. I may have been playing Eagles' songs in my job, but it was still Leadbelly, Seeger, Ochs, Uncle Dave Macon, and The Delmore Brothers etc. who made music so important to me.
Quentin's writing gave me the kick in the ass I needed. After you've told a dozen or so friends and acquaintances that you're quitting the bars, cause you wanna teach music and play folk venues, WHETHER YOU STARVE OR NOT, you damned well better do it or you'll look like a jerk! And shy people HATE looking like jerks.

So thanks, Mr Crisp. You lived life on your own terms, you made (and always will make) me laugh hysterically, and you died on tour at the age of 90, still making people smile..and think. Pretty neat!

Rick