FAREWELL TIM MCGLASHEN
Vocalist was focal point for band Buddhacrush

From the Houston Chronicle:

Tim McGlashen, frontman for Houston band the Buddhacrush, died Tuesday; he was 49.

The Buddhacrush has been a mainstay on the local music scene with its funk-rock sound.

McGlashen was hospitalized last week with an infection. His death surprised friends and fans.

"Tim was a fantastic musician, but an even better person," said Jeff Balke, bassist for Houston band orange is in. "His passion for his own art was surpassed only by his genuine compassion for his friends and musical family. He will be sorely missed."

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Tim was one of my brother-in-law's best friends--I met him soon after Becky and I became a couple back in 1997. He was one of the nicest, most intelligent, and artistically supportive people I've ever known. Indeed, he made an effort to see many of the shows I did with dos chicas over the years. His sense of artistic camaraderie, however, was more than simply showing up. One night a few years back, I performed some of my songs at a party, but I was a bit drunk and under-rehearsed; actually, I sucked. Tim, however, had nothing but words of encouragement and praise for me. That turned into a philosophical conversation about the nature of artistic success, and whether an artist has to be a star in order to have "made it." Like I said, he was smart. In fact, I remember touring with him the Mayan ruins at Tulum in Mexico back in 1998; Tim regaled me, eyes twinkling, with detailed stories of the Spanish conquistadores as if he had read about them only a few hours before--the reality is that he had a masters degree in history, and was able to call up facts as though he was an encyclopedia. His funeral was one of the saddest events I have ever attended; Tim's death hit everyone who knew him like a cinder block smashing into a windshield. I'm sad for Tim. I'm sad for his wife. I'm sad for his friends and family.

Body of leopard, eagle's head
And whetted beak, and lion's mane,
And frost-grey hedge of feathers spread
Behind -- he seemed of all things bred.
I shall not see his like again.

From "The Combat" by Edwin Muir



Farewell, Tim.

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