Cavalier? Severe!

This friendship has run aground.

Back when I saw everything in black and white I never weighed the consequences of my decisions, especially the friendship purity tests I applied cavalierly, alienating those I didn’t feel were doing it “right.” That was the story of Mike Nicolosi (RIP) and I. After Glenn Katz moved to Florida in 1978 or ‘79 and Billy Kammerer and I parted ways after our band Cobra died, Mike became my best friend. Maybe my only friend. We hung out with each other constantly. If I wasn’t at his house, he was at mine. Or we’d get in his car (or mine) and drive to the North Shore to hit the only record store around that carried imports. After work we’d head to the Salvation Army in West Babylon to “liberate” clothing. Friday nights we’d underage drink locally (the drinking age was 18 but we were 16, 17 and no one carded us – though I toted a fake Times Square NJ Driver’s License just in case). Saturday nights we were at Legz in Valley Stream, listening to a punk rock/new wave DJ and drinking gin & tonic. I probably saw Mike every single day, no exaggeration, for years, especially when the Nihilistics truly got up and running.

Mike was generally fun to be around, with a dark, wicked sense of humor to match mine. We made each other laugh endlessly and had music to otherwise bind us. But he was also a prodigious drinker and – if not quite a mean drunk – he could easily become an insulting, overbearing asshole. God help you if you became the focus of his withering wit. He had the former fat kid’s resentment of those who rejected him, coming to see much of humanity as superficial phonies who couldn’t be bothered to delve beneath the surface. I kinda got his point but was still a fat kid and reserved the bulk of my loathing for myself. As Mike began to draw female attention and move beyond his beloved beer into other mood-alterers, he gravitated toward Nihilistics front man and greasy lothario Ron Rancid (though he didn’t go by that moniker at the time). Mike and Ron became partners-in-crime and I was left on the outs (the drummer Troy was generally off doing his own thing). Hanging out more and more with Misguided guitarist Alex Totino, I found myself alienated from Mike, who’d gotten a girlfriend and no longer had time for me. Mike also tended to see other NYHC bands as not worthy of touching his hem, so I doubt he thought much of my friendship with Alex.

The rift between Mike and I continued to grow, culminating in an incident documented in my short story Our Last Show. In the parking lot of an (aborted) gig in the wilds of NJ, Mike declared “You’re no Nihilistic!” and punctuated that ridiculous statement by punching me in the face. After that, I was done with him and, by extension, the band. Things careened on a bit longer (we were committed to subsequent gigs) but soon ground to a halt. When presented with the opportunity to move off Lawn Guyland, I left Mike and the Nihilistics behind. Newly-ensconced in NJ, I’d field Mike’s occasional drunken phone calls (my mother gave him my number – thanks, mom!). If Mike was on the outs with Ron, the breakdown of the Nihilistics would be pinned on him. Mike would ask if I was still playing guitar (I was, with Missing Foundation), suggest we book a rehearsal studio, jam for awhile, see where it goes. If Ron and Mike were talking again the phone calls would be excoriating and hateful. I was the piece of shit that ruined everything.

Eventually, I bought an answering machine so I wouldn’t have to deal with Mike anymore.

There was a brief redux in 1989, after Pete Missing decided my guitar playing was too “normal” (meanwhile, the most viewed/listened to Missing Foundation track – “Burn Trees” – is based around my riff and guitar playing) and I gave into nostalgia, rejoining the moribund Nihilistics. We were supposed to work on new material, record another album, play some shows. But Mike got drunk during one of our rehearsals and began insulting and deriding me (I’d forgotten much of what went on until a conversation with Paul Bearer of Sheer Terror, who witnessed it all). We managed to record a few tracks (several of which, without my knowledge or approval, made it on to the next Nihilistics release) but I went back to my corner and the rest of the band went back to theirs. The next time I saw Mike was easily ten years later, when he tried to choke me to death (also immortalized in a short story).

I never contemplated how Mike characterized my withdrawal from his life. Did he see it as abandonment? Or blame himself for driving me away? I can’t say. If we got close to the subject, Mike would deflect, saying it was all Ron’s fault for, among other transgressions, wanting to bring his brother into the band on lead guitar. It’s true I didn’t feel like taking a backseat to a Glenn Tipton-wannabe... but I also no longer wanted to subject myself to drunken Mike’s casual cruelty and abuse. I got enough of that shit at home.

Mike wasn’t the last friendship I severed, intentionally or otherwise. Cavalier Chris would blow up relationships over hurt feelings, not understanding that feelings are just information, not a permanent state. When you’re young you think there’s an unlimited supply, you’ll just go out and make more friends, forge more relationships. It doesn’t work that way. The friends who’ve hung in there, the ones I’ve stuck with? We weather the downturns and commit to working it out. Could I have hammered it out with Mike? I don’t know. It was a fairly toxic situation due to his drinking. And I wanted out of my mother’s house, even if it meant moving to NJ where I knew one person, Jeff Nagle (RIP), former Drunk Driving guitarist and the dude whose house I moved into (okay, not totally true: I also knew Kit, down in Hoboken, and sorta knew the Adrenalin OD dudes, wherever the fuck they lived at the time). But I needed that clean break and to jump clear of the trainwreck Mike and the Nihilistics became. I needed to save myself.

Ironically, my first night as a NJ resident I met Kaz, Tom, Jim, Carla and a few others who’d become good friends and central to the next chapter: transformation from “guy in a band” to “guy on the radio” due to involvement with WFMU.

NOTE: The video above was generated from a still with Adobe Firefly. The results are uncanny (and somewhat creepy). I probably could’ve written a more elaborate AI prompt beyond “Animate the figures slightly.” but I’m still learning the ropes. Everyone looks like they did in my memory, even down to Mike’s sneer. Here’s another one, which I didn’t like because the AI gave me a neck pimple and we all end by looking up to the sky as if a UFO’s been spotted.