Light Up the Stars: Remembering Rick Froberg

Is an afterword any different from a superficial outpouring on Instagram? Words through the pipeline that have a three-day use by date, after that – with consciences clear and respects paid – everyone can carry on with their lives as normal.

This is the measure of life circa-2023. Through the voyeurism of social media, whether it’s to highlight someone’s pain or ecstasy via a couple of sentences, a picture and an assortment of emojis, well, call me old fashioned but it’s all a bit fucking weird. For the most part, I’d rather do my suffering the way I do my celebrating: in silence.

A brief look at the track list of Hot Snakes’ excellent 2018 comeback album, Jericho Sirens, will confirm that death features heavily. Not that Rick Froberg was obsessed with it; the subject merely fed into the stark realities of the songs he wrote. The songwriter fully aware that death’s door edges closer as we all get longer in the tooth.

Froberg was good like that. A pillar of the San Diego underground scene which over the years boasted many vital acts, his honesty was perhaps his greatest boon. A realist, and if only there were more like him. It was one of the many charms we found in his songs, whether it be through the stained lens of indie-rock shredders Pitchfork where Froberg and longtime partner in crime John Reis began their mission to interweave punk with post-hardcore, continuing with the feverish rush of Drive Like Jehu and marching through to a new century where they made every post a winner during the glorious reign as Hot Snakes. In 2005 having moved to New York, Froberg went on to form the blues-rock-inspired Obits before Drive Like Jehu and Hot Snakes both hit the resume button during the next decade.

While the creative world has lost so many key figures over the last six months, including Mimi Parker and Cormac McCarthy, the loss of Rick Froberg feels equally significant, if for slightly different reasons. His passing feels just as close, and as our heroes continue to leave this world, ruminating over the past six days since Froberg’s untimely death at the age of 55, for some reason it felt like an overwhelming injustice not to say anything about the man and his creative endeavours.

Not because I’d place Hot Snakes in my top 10 favourite bands (although they are there or thereabouts). But because the vast majority of Froberg’s fans know that his music is at the centre of a map where all roads lead. Much of what we write about throughout these pages probably wouldn’t be known had it not been for the voice of Rick Froberg who, via his many bands, provided that vital through line.

So again, is an afterword any different from a trite post on on Instagram? Maybe. Maybe not. But something needed to be said about the indelible mark this artist has left.

Froberg’s music is something many of us have grown up with. Now dovetailing with a younger generation of listeners, as we grow older and introduce our loved ones to the music of Hot Snakes or recount the memory of a Drive Like Jehu show, Frogberg has forged a path for many and not the few. From punk kids at the Warped Tour to post-hardcore Slint devotees, whilst undoubtedly two different sound worlds, Drive Like Jehu and Hot Snakes blurred the lines for everyone to find common ground.

With unique, razor-wire melodies delivered with that nicotine-addled snarl, backed by the distinct chainsaw thrum alongside co-conspirator Reis, the music was never dull. Through Froberg’s wild eccentricities as a songwriter, few bands have the fine wine essence of Drive Like Jehu and Hot Snakes. The latter, immune from that dud record so many bands live in fear of making. Froberg was fearless. If it was real, then there was nothing to fear.

Froberg created art that simply had no currency. Years on, and each release still sounds as vital and vibrant as the day it was released. Few bands have released a better three-pronged attack as good Hot Snakes’ Automatic Midnight, Suicide Invoice and Audit in Progress, with the aforementioned Jericho Sirens extending beyond the Berlin trilogy to transforming the Hot Snakes canon into a career-defining quartet.

Superbly street level, from his stunning artwork which adorned the covers of Pitchfork’s Eucalyptus, Drive Like Jehu’s Yank Crime and the first three Hot Snakes records, to his songs, Froberg was someone everyone could relate to on a human level. It felt like he was one of us, and that was even more prevalent through his songs.

There are too many to note, but Suicide Invoice’s opener, I Hate the Kids and Obits’ Talking to the Dog both instantly spring to mind. Songs where Froberg explored the Groundhog Day existence many of us undertake. Through his gale-force yet playful sneer, akin to a wicked cocktail of country, punk, blues and soul boy, Froberg illuminated these mundanities in humorously twisted ways.

That’s why every fan remains as fervent as the day they discovered Rick’s music. Once again, inadvertently blurring the lines – this time between the adolescent and adult parts of the brain. Not many acts during the history of rock music have achieved this, but through his various projects Froberg did.

While we all have our favourite moments, mine is removed from both studio and stage. In what could perhaps be considered slightly perverse given the circumstances, it came during the tumultuous ‘return’ of the 2014 edition of All Tomorrow’s Parties festival where Drive Like Jehu were confirmed as curators.

Well, almost. There had been rumours of the highly questionable business practices of ATP founder, Barry Hogan, well into the decade, and while many were too afraid to call it out in the lead up, this event was the final straw; everyone from the caterers, sound engineers to the artists themselves not being paid. Drive Like Jehu weren’t afraid to highlight the realities of the situation, their missive signed off with (you guessed it) a roll of toilet paper…

Leading to the event’s cancellation, the whole incident echoed a passage from band’s wonderful track, Sinew: “Found yourself an asshole / Find yourself the door / Ain’t gonna fix your leaks for you / Ain’t gonna watch the store.”

Quintessential Froberg and Reis. Street level to the core and not afraid to call out bullshit under any circumstances. It was yet another moment where Froberg and his band mates remained entrenched in the punk ethos that they lived by. And that’s why the mark made by Froberg on punk and post-hardcore will remain permanent.

Rest In Peace, Rick Froberg. Real to the end. And music as we know it will be less without your presence in it.