Metro Pulse/Music/Eye on the Scene

In Passing

A guest columnist on a recent loss

It seems somehow fitting that it happened on Halloween. Just last week, Knoxville lost two of its most unique characters when Anjanette Comer and Dennis Shockley (alias "Doc Shock") were killed in an auto accident. With their loss, it's as if the final binding agent of the Fort Sanders punk/goth/party scene of the '80s has dissolved.

Anjanette and Doc were key figures in Knoxville's first-wave punk rock scene that emerged in full force around 1982, and I knew them well. Anytime there was a punk show or a crazy party, both were sure to be at the epicenter of activity.

Due to their simultaneous demise, Angie and Dennis will forever be remembered together. They were good friends, partied together and loved punk rock, but their personalities were vastly different.

Dennis seemed to embody the yin/yang dichotomy of human nature. In the course of an evening, he could transform from a backslapping good ol' boy to a mean-spirited and sometimes violent miscreant. At heart, Doc was a real sweetheart. But as his life became unmanageable, his dark side became more evident.

In many ways, Dennis was the agent of his own undoing. He had a brilliant intellect, but he sabotaged his teaching career (he had a Master's degree in German) as his addictions took priority. In his last days, Doc was in failing health. The years of abuse had damaged his liver and many didn't expect him to live long.

Anjanette, on the other hand, was thriving. She liked to party, but it never affected her personality or got in the way of her professional life (she was a bookkeeper for an area book retailer). A genuinely nice person to the core, Angie was the Mother Teresa of Knoxville's subterranean scene, providing a haven for anyone who needed it—no questions asked and no judgments passed. Her stability, patience and charity made her the pivotal point of a social clique that was otherwise falling apart as its members chose different paths in life, for better or worse. Everybody loved Angie, with good reason.

Anjanette and Dennis both lived for the present, and the present was almost always a damn good time. On occasion, the party might get a little bit out of control. But Doc and Angie thrived on constantly pushing the limits a little bit further. I remember countless nights spent with both of them, partying till dawn, getting into all kinds of trouble and laughing our asses off. And no matter what kind of twisted lunacy we got into, all our transgressions were forgotten (or at least forgiven) the next day.

After a while, this kind of relentless hedonism becomes a taxing pursuit. And cheap laughs are successively harder to come by as the ravages of excess begin to take their toll. But at least we had a good time on our descent into oblivion. (This is a memorial, not a morality tale.)

Sure, Angie was a party girl. And she was also a deep thinker. Her conversations were constantly peppered with references to Nietzsche, Camus and Sartre. She took her existentialism seriously, and her conviction never wavered.

Doc was also surprisingly philosophical in his more reflective moments. I'll never forget a road trip we took to Atlanta. After a raucous night at a Public Image Limited show, he woke me at a blearily hungover 9 a.m. so we could visit the Goethe Institute before returning to Knoxville. His interest in Goethe was telling, as Doc may have made some Faustian bargains of his own.

To say that they were smart and well-read is not to paint a picture of Dennis and Anjanette as romantically doomed intellectuals. They were just a couple of crazy kids who loved rock 'n' roll music and placed utmost value in having fun. Just last year I asked each of them if they had any regrets and both were adamant that they wouldn't have had it any other way.

Anjanette and Dennis personified the "live fast, die young" ethos of first generation U.S. hardcore. At 35 and 40, respectively, maybe they didn't exactly die young but they sure died too soon.

With their passing, Knoxville has lost two true originals. Unlike many who pass through a faux rebellion phase, Dennis and Angie were true rebels who could have only been produced as a reaction to the prefab morality of the Reagan era. Throughout their lives, they never altered the personas they created for themselves in the '80s. Whether their refusal to adapt and evolve was caused by idealism or naiveté is a moot point. Their rebellion was not a pose, but an integral part of their very beings.

I can only hope that with their passing, Anjanette and Dennis will acquire some kind of legendary status. Knoxville will certainly be a quieter and more boring place without them.

Sure, every generation has its rebels. But punk rock in Fort Sanders in the '80s was my rebellion. The loss of Angie and Dennis signifies, for me, a final closure on a turbulent and unforgettable period in my life—my cherished, misspent youth that I wouldn't have missed for anything. And it sucks knowing that a great party is finally over for good.

I'll never ever forget Anjanette and Dennis and the great times we had together. I loved them both. And I just hope that every single day of their lives was a freakin' blast. Here's to 'em.

—John Sewell

Go.

Thursday: Marvelous 3 with Tsar at Moose's. Oh those tortured boys.

Friday: Cephas and Wiggins at Laurel Theatre. Living legends of the folk music form.

Saturday: Atombombpocketknife with Pegasi 51 at Pilot Light. A formerly local and local sampler to whet your appetite. Also, Versus with The Comas at Tomato Head. More indie underground for your listening enjoyment.

Sunday: Oneida at Pilot Light. Their Brooklyn-based rock may not be the best in the world but these guys are very, very good at self-promotion.

Monday: Tall Paul at Boogie's. Sometimes, classic covers are exactly what you need.Tuesday: K with Seasonal and The Naysayer at Tomato Head. Pop with a brain.

Wednesday: UT Saxophone Studio at UT Music Hall. Get some sax tonight.

—Emma "Kiss me. I'm on TV." Poptart