Remembering Bill Doss: Much, much more
All the memories and tributes we couldn't fit in print
This week, we published a selection of tributes to Bill Doss, the Olivia Tremor Control frontman who passed away unexpectedly last week. The response to our call for anecdotes and remembrances was swift and overwhelming, and unfortunately, we couldn't fit them all into the paper. Below is everything we received, from the Athens community and beyond. You will be missed, Bill.
Patrick Tape Fleming:
The Olivia Tremor Control is my all-time favorite band. From the first time I heard them in 1997, I have hailed them [as] the Beatles times 10! Our band was lucky enough to be asked to open for the Apples In Stereo on a tour in 2008 and I was so excited, not just because of the opportunity to open for the Apples, but because I knew Bill Doss would be along for the tour.
I first met Bill at Robert Schneider's wedding. I was freaking out 'cause he said to me, "Nice bolo." (I was wearing a ridiculous bolo tie.) That night I got to talk about my favorite album ever, Dusk at Cubist Castle, with one of the guys who made it. It was one of the greatest conversations I have ever had. Bill was so sweet to me—he could see I was a true fan and wanted to talk about [the] weird noises on the record that I had memorized from hundreds upon hundreds of listens to that record.
When our band got to Louisville, for the first show of our tour with the Apples, I told the guys that it was my goal to get Bill Doss to let us back him on "Jumping Fences." He hadn't really played any OTC stuff live since the reunions in 2004, (which I drove 14 hours from Iowa to Athens to see). Anyway, every night on the tour I would go up to Bill and say, "Bill, OTC was the greatest band ever, and these songs need to be played—let us back you playing 'Jumping Fences?'" He would just laugh.
He was so sweet to me on that tour, always talking to me and watching our band play, he knew I loved him so much. Finally, in Dallas, I asked him, "so, Bill, is tonight the night we do "Jumping Fences?" and much to my surprise, he said, "OK, lets do it." I lost it for a second and started freaking out. He said, "Let's go over it backstage." So for five minutes the Poison Control Center stood in a circle with Bill Doss, playing one of the greatest pop songs ever, with the guy who wrote it. I thought the song was in the key of B, but he showed me that it's actually in A, and he taught it to us, and yes, we played it that night. Standing with your hero in a circle [of] your best friends, learning a song that you think is as good as any ever written was one of the greatest moments in my life…
Only to be outdone last September, when The Olivia Tremor Control played in Minneapolis. Naturally, I was there, and I got to talk with Pete, John, and Bill before the show. Bill was so sweet to me. I thanked him for releasing "The Game You Play is in Your Head, Parts 1, 2 & 3" on my birthday, and told him I thought it was nice that Will and Bill were thinking 'bout me on my birthday. He laughed and said, "We were." That night was actually his birthday as well. During the show, Bill [said], "I would like to ask someone from Des Moines, Iowa to come up here and sing this song with us, 'cause he bugged me every night to come and sing it with his band the Poison Control Center." I nearly lost it. I jumped up on stage with my all time favorite band and I said into the microphone, "This is the greatest fucking band ever." Will [looked] at me and [said], "No we're not." I just smiled and said, "Well, you're my favorite." Then Bill strummed into "Jumping Fences" and I got to sing it with them.
During the end of the song, Bill came over and shared the mic with me, and I got to hear that glorious voice through my ear, not through a speaker, and it was the most magical moment of my life: singing that song with him on the same mic. After the song was done, he hugged me and I thanked him. It was one of the greatest moments in my life, and I feel so honored to say that I got to meet my hero. And he was one of the kindest people I have ever met in my life! His influence [on] my spirit as a musician and as a person will never fade. Bill Doss, I love you with all my heart. Thanks for coloring my world.
Jeff Beam:
I'm incredibly grateful I got to see The Olivia Tremor Control last September in Boston, and even more grateful that I got to spend an evening with Bill & OTC two nights later in NYC. He had just met me, but he gladly offered me endless swigs of his whiskey. Aside from being a true musical visionary, he was such a kind soul and a real joy to be around. Just absolutely full of life. This news leaves my heart heavy for Bill's family and the rest of his band. I feel blessed to have been affected by his contributions to our world, and I find comfort in knowing that his spirit and his recordings will continue to inspire countless musicians for decades to come.
Amy Butterer:
He was truly one of the nicest, most sincere, fun-loving guys I’ve met in this business, or otherwise. I’m glad to have been able to spend some time with Bill here in Chicago at Pitchfork Festival a few weeks ago. His passing is a true loss for the music world. He will be deeply missed.
Jim Romeo:
I had the pleasure to know and work with Bill for a good 16 years or so, doing the booking for The Olivia Tremor Control and also for his Sunshine Fix project.
His warm, positive demeanor was infectious. A true Southern gentleman and always a professional in not always the most professional situations. The last we corresponded he apologized because OTC had decided to forego touring this fall in order to concentrate on finishing their new record. He was super excited about it. I hope it sees the light of day: we could all use some more Bill and OTC in our lives! Such a sad, sad loss.
Dan Efram:
Bill Doss had an undeniable mischievous and sunny personality. A merry prankster of pop—able to write psychedelic pop hooks that got stuck in my head instantly and with regularity. Along with his positivity, I'll never forget having obscure pop music conversations, [through] which I was constantly being schooled by his expansive knowledge. Though it was sometimes a source of frustration—as I could never match his insight—I always looked forward to some new kernel revealed by The Bill Doss.
Dena Zilber:
I didn’t know him. I only met him briefly a few times (the first time at Purchase, the second time hanging out at Will and Kelly's house and he gave me a beer!). I’d see him around though sometimes and be afraid to say hello or anything. I didn’t want to be one of those weirdo fan-freaks that annoy local celebrities and make them not want to leave the house. One time he came into Transmet when I was working there though, and I yelled hello at him very excitedly, because I felt like I really knew him. Then I said sorry, and he just looked confused. It had been a long time since I had last met him and I was sure he didn’t remember who I was.
Regardless of knowing him or not, he is a hero to me and I doubt I would be living in Athens or playing music today if he didn’t exist. I could always tell that he was an amazingly special soul and to be anywhere within his presence always felt so bizarre. I can feel Athens' heartbreak and shock, I can feel how much his friends and family are hurting, it’s all too much. I can’t stop thinking about it all and to be honest I don’t want to. I kept waking up in the middle of the night last night with him on my mind.
Garrett said it best:
“Finally able to listen to some Bill stuff. The man was unjustly underrecognized, in my opinion. He had qualities of observation and passion that could make simple sentiments become modified with more specific, adaptable proverbs. Which is what [he] and Will did in their music. I never knew him; my heart goes out to those who did and were touched by his existence in a more tangibly interpersonal way. Still, I’ve always felt his mere voice was somewhat of a church… I’ve heard his personality matched his music and cannot imagine the magnitude this has.”
After their show on Thursday night, I had the lyrics to "No Growing" stuck in my head.
What do you do when the magic’s gone?
Stacey-Marie Piotrowski:
I don’t know what to say about this, and I never know what is appropriate to say, especially having only said hello to him a couple times, and thinking of how I’ve facetiously posted photos of his band tagged as “these boys” and “inappropriate crushes” and “this band is my hero,” and thinking about the way we talk about grief using I-statements, and wondering if that’s selfish or if that’s just the easiest way to relate stories and feel closer among the living, and/or if that’s even a way to express empathy at all—since feeling the loss of a distant-acquaintence musician is different than those who are feeling the loss of a friend, so what room do I have to even talk?
I’m old enough now to cry just on principle that 43 is very young, it’s too young, and I’m still stubbornly immature to think things like it’s not fair, and people aren’t supposed to die in the middle of a Southern summer, and “but I just saw him the other day and he looked so happy!” Some friends are talking about how this serves as an impetus to remember about your mortality and stop putting things off—stop procrastinating on your work, stop avoiding getting to know people. I have a family history of sudden deaths, aneurysms and heart attacks, and I always worry about how much time I’m wasting, like when I say, I haven’t published a zine in five years, I recorded an album but I don’t play shows, I don’t know if I will ever have a child, later, maybe later— “there will be time, there will be time…”
But there, see, I’m making it all about me. Is that what inspiration means, though? Is that what it is to have a legacy? When your life and your loss, however distant, is so far-reaching and moves others to action rather than apathy? When I started listening to E6 bands, I was already old enough to not want to put these artists on a pedestal because I had decided that creative expression is a means of communication and not a reason to worship. When people talk about these artists being magical and special I would interject, but remember, they are just dudes. They are people with friends and family and jobs and they write and practice and record and just play songs. Anyone can do this. And that was not to be derogatory, but to be inspiring—that was the motivating part to me. They’re just dudes, we’re just dudes, it’s possible we can all do this, therefore I won’t hear any talk about the magic going away.
I forget how Athens is so insulated [yet] at the same time its influence is far-reaching. Empathy is in+feeling, like walking around town yesterday and sensing the weight as the town heaves grief, tearing up for the loss of a musician you may have known only peripherally, and hurting even more to imagine the hurt his closer friends and family are feeling.
I’ve talked a lot of shit about Athens and how transitory and unstable it is, and how drunk and apathetic it can be, and how it’s difficult to feel a sense of community when hardly anyone is even sure of where they’re going to be living in a year, and how it’s difficult to be happy or even okay because I watch my friends making the same dumb mistakes again and again, and of course, I myself make the same dumb mistakes again and again. For me, the thing about remembering that musicians and artists are just these dudes is about this recognition of humanity and humility, about how most everyone has probably gone through some shit and how you have to take personal responsibility for how you are going to deal and react to the shit you’ve been dealt. It’s so easy to sink into sadness and insist that the world is out to get you; it takes a conscious effort to make something beautiful and give it back instead.
And every once in a while there are moments that remind you that another world is possible, maybe on a rooftop or in a swimming hole or a buzzed bike ride home—that’s what I loved most about seeing Olivia Tremor Control perform. I critique the hell out of performance and authenticity and I’m sarcastic and doubtful even as I want/try to fight burnout, but I would go to these shows and feel expressions of sincerity and genuine happiness and I would feel like everyone in the room has just gotta be sharing that sentiment, and maybe for an hour, everything else falls away.
Parker Gispert:
The Olivia Tremor Control and Elephant 6 made me want to be in a band. I only hung out with Bill once, when we opened for The Sunshine Fix at Tasty World. He was empirically cool, and consistent with the world I’d heard in his music.
Jason NeSmith:
At the behest of Bryan Poole, I saw OTC in 1995 at The Point in Atlanta—BP played keys that night!—and picked up Dusk at Cubist Castle the week it came out. It was the record of the season. I'm embarrassed to admit that at the time I harbored some petty jealousy—the record was too good, and so was Black Foliage.
In mid-2002, Bryan and I were working on his record when Bill called looking for a touring keyboard player for The Sunshine Fix. Meeting him was a blast of good feelings. He was very positive, handsome, and goofy. He was like an older brother who got himself cosmically aligned but kept his style in check and spoke in "Simpsons," Beatles, and Brian Eno references.
In 2007, Bill joined The Apples in Stereo and brought Casper & the Cookies along as support, a favor for which I will be eternally grateful. It was the best six weeks of touring ever. A few months later, he asked for my help [with] recording some of his dozens of unfinished songs, a protracted project which led to many other projects. I learned a lot from watching him work, the way he could turn off his internal editor and let his imagination play until he arrived at an idea that smacked of a bit of magic, a little musical room he could invite his friends to help decorate.
I came to the realization that he was my best friend, whether or not it was reciprocal. I met many great friends through Bill, and I'm sure they all feel similarly towards him.
His wife Amy came up frequently in conversation, always lovingly. I treasure the evenings we spent with Bill and Amy. Kay and I found comfort being around another couple in forever-love.
Bill talked about the Olivias a lot. He missed playing the songs. He said he was the Olivias' biggest fan. He knew the magic was most potent with Will and the boys, loved what they did together, and wished they would reunite.
In a half-cursed way, his wish was granted. Once Will was diagnosed with MS, Bill raced against time to help his friend. I didn't see him much from that point on unless at a show or Kroger. Kay and I caught the last OTC show at the Georgia Theatre, a transcendental performance. Bill and AJ sparked off each other especially heavily. Two days later he was gone, and we were all shattered. We remain so. I cannot quit thinking about what we've lost.
I still expect him to come through the door with a bottle of bourbon to share, singing the Monorail song, excited about lending me an album he loves or playing me a work in progress. I heard he died holding his guitar. It's a minor consolation, but I need to believe that right now.
On behalf of the living: fuck you, Death.
Lindsey Jane Haddad:
I was not especially close to Bill, but did get to spend some time with him (and, of course, am greatly influenced by his music). It was April 2010, and I was playing with the band Laminated Cat. We were on tour with The Apples in Stereo. I think we might have been in Milwaukee on the night in question, but I can't remember exactly. Anyway, after our set, I stepped out to have a smoke. A few of the Apples were already out there, including Bill. Before I could light my own cigarette, Bill lit it for me. He then proceeded to explain that in a situation such as that, the person smoking the cigarette should be looking at the end of it. The person lighting the cigarette should look at the eyes of the smoker. When the smoker feels it is properly lit, he or she should look up into the eyes of the other person, and that's how they both know the transaction is complete. Since Bill taught me this, I've shared it with many a smoker. My friends and I refer to it as "cigarettiquette." I plan to quit smoking at some point (from what I hear, Bill was smoking less recently), but until then, I will spread the cigarettiquette—and perhaps some of that Bill Doss charm—to as many folks as possible.
Mat Lewis:
When I was still in high school, the band I was in came down to Athens to record an album with Bill. We were thrilled to be working with him, and he seemed just as excited to be giving a few young, enthusiastic musicians their first studio experience. During our first day in the studio, as he was setting up and trying to get the right sound, our guitarist said she wanted her guitar to sound like stars. When Bill asked, "Warm, organic stars, or twinkly, digital stars?" we knew it was going to be a great week.
Lucy Calhoun:
I met Bill in my art history class. His hair was dyed black at the time, which gave a rather odd contrast to his natural features. I had never met anyone that level of "different" before, and in that small town this was a welcome change! Bill liked to push the limits and make people think. He relished the awkward confusion in his classmates when he sat at the piano, unmoving as the minutes ticked by; they had never heard of John Cage's "4'33"," so of course Bill considered this perfect to do for an art assignment! He delighted in challenging people to think outside their safe little box. What an amazing gift to give people.
Blake Aued:
For my birthday in 1999, my college roommate gave me a CD by a band I had never heard of before: Black Foliage: Animation Music Volume One, by The Olivia Tremor Control. It was fantastic—a great album to listen to while getting high or through headphones, falling asleep at night.
I was working at a small paper in a boring town outside of Atlanta in 2004. We drove to Athens one weekend for a Sunshine Fix/Circulatory System double bill at the 40 Watt. I hadn't been to Athens since my dad took me to a football game as a kid and, of course, I fell in love with the town. About a year later, a job opened up at the Banner-Herald. A very cute girl who had gone to school at UGA started working there around the same time. I knew hardly anyone, so an OTC reunion show in April 2005 was a good excuse to hang out. I'd never seen anything like that jam-packed stage, and their marching band routine at the end.
Six months later, we were dating. We got married last year. So, Bill Doss was at least partially responsible for me moving to Athens and meeting my wife. Thanks, Bill.
I only met him one time, when I interviewed him and Will for an article about the OTC reunion last October. It was one of the worst articles I've ever written. They were such cool guys that we ended up just shooting the shit for at least an hour. When I listened to my tape, I had hardly any material at all.
Deanna Varagona:
I used to live in Athens, but currently live in Chicago. I met Bill on a three-day stay. Neutral Milk Hotel and Olivia Tremor Control stayed with me in my one-bedroom attic apartment. Strangely enough, we did not hate each other after all that closeness, but grew to be good friends.
At the time, I had some beat-up brown leather shoes. I remember having black polish, but no brown polish. Somehow we talked about this, and when I woke up the next morning, Bill had cleaned and polished my shoes for me.
Another great memory, and probably one of the first times I met Amy: I was in Lambchop, and the Olivias had been invited to play one of Merge Records' festivals in North Carolina. I strong-armed my 'Chop pals, even William Tyler, who was just a fan then and not yet a member, into keeping the Olivias (and their wives and girlfriends) in our rooms. Bill and Amy stayed with Alex and me.
Another time, we met at the Time Out, I think it was called, right around the corner from Bill and Amy's house. We sang karaoke—sang the night away. Such great memories. I miss him dearly.
Mike Turner:
I know most folks know Bill from his music, but the thing that sticks out most to me is just how kind and funny he was. I don't think I ever saw him bummed out or in a bad mood. He just always seemed to be smiling, and could see the bright side of things. There was this one day in September of 2006—or maybe it was 2005—that on my way to give Eric Hernandez a ride to work, we got in this nasty car wreck, right by where Bill worked. He was walking up from parking his car when it happened, and he ran over to check that everyone was okay. Both Eric and I were a bit shook up, but Bill calmed everyone down. Once it was cleared for us to go home—we were just bruised and cut up a bit—Bill offered to give us a ride. I was so focused on losing my car, but after a few jokes and some positive spin (Bill was like, "You and Eric are walking away from that wreck and are OK."), I didn't really worry about the car. There are other Bill stories, but that one sticks out the most.
David Barbe:
Not many people know this, but Bill was my intern for a while at Chase Park. He was a great intern, too. Not so much in the "make some coffee/clean the bathroom" kind of way, but just having him hang out at the studio with his positive, totally creative vibe made him an excellent studio assistant. There was one time he was helping out when I was working on my own record. He came in and listened for a bit, and then asked me if he could try out an idea. I was more than happy for him to do so. What he came up with was some stacked backup vocals that completely transformed my song. The whole thing couldn't have taken more than 15 minutes. In that light, I always found his creative spontaneity to be contagious. He was humble, yet I often felt humbled by how deeply he felt music. Bill was the real deal. Great musician. Great human being. Kind, generous, funny, great friend. I miss him.
Melissa Link:
How my heart breaks for Amy! Sweethearts since college, she and Bill managed to maintain a googly-eyed devotion that is rare in couples who have been together for more than two years, much less two decades. They were one another’s inspiration and pillars of support and were seldom apart—Amy often acted as tour manager for Bill’s bands and he, in turn, regularly joined her when she traveled for her own job. They saw the world together, but home in Athens they lived a lifestyle of domestic coziness that belied rock and roll stereotypes. On the infrequent occasions when they did make it out on the town, they were always at one another’s side. More than once, when they’d managed to pop in at a gathering I’d hosted, some Athens ingénue would pull me aside and hushedly exclaim, “Is that Bill Doss from Olivia Tremor Control? Do you know him?”
I never got the whole star-struck thing. Bill was the embodiment of friendly, unpretentious charm—a truly kind soul whose quiet manner and impish smile veiled an utterly goofy sense of humor that was just another symptom of his inner creative genius. So many of us will miss him for reasons reaching far beyond his magnificent music. We were all lucky to have known Bill, and Bill was exceptionally lucky to have spent so much of his too, too short life with Amy.
David Bell (for all at R.E.M. HQ):
We will always remember Bill Doss' visits to the R.E.M. office fondly. Bill was a gentle soul, a man with depth of feeling and thought, a love of music and conversation, a gift for putting others at ease, laughter, generosity, many things. His greatest gift, no doubt, was his obvious devotion to Amy, something that was always on display in a quiet, measured kind of way. Not advertised but somehow incandescent. You just knew it when you saw them together, sitting quietly, perhaps holding hands, perhaps not, with smiles of contentment. We were all in awe of their devotion to one another.
Bill: we will miss those visits.
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