Someone posted something on one of the favorite social media threads and asked if Jimi Hendrix was more universally respected than all others as a musician. I don’t know about universally but I have little or no respect for him as a human. While he may have been a good guitar player, his actions while he was alive garner a bit of disrespect here and revulsion in my stomach.

First off, he was a drug addict. It killed him. I am one as well, I found my path to a better way for me, and so far addiction has not killed me. He didn’t do that, and while I feel for the suffering addict and will, if possible, aid them to bring a bit of sanity to their life, I despise addiction and don’t tolerate well being around an “in the throes of addiction addict.”

But, that is not why I don’t like Jimi Hendrix. In 1968, I lived in Taiwan where the “happenings” came late. We were at least six months behind the times in the States. I played in a rock n roll band and Jimi Hendrix was one of my guitar heroes. I had just discovered him and didn’t know anything about him, but I had a Chinese copy of Are You Experienced. Purple Haze and Foxy Lady really fueled me to be an electric guitar player. Along with Jeff Beck, Jimi was my first or second guitar god.

I had an acoustic guitar that came from my dad. It was old and cheap, needed a neck reset and was all but unplayable. I also had a Chinese built electric guitar that had a twisted neck. I could play it, but it was never in tune and there was no way to fix it, and there was no money in our family to even think about buying a playable guitar. I played what I had and dreamed of having a guitar like any of my friends who played who had one that could be played.

And I heard that Jimi Hendrix burned his perfectly good guitar on stage as a sacrifice or some such bullshit. I got the “artistic” intent and knew other kids who thought it was so cool. I thought it was pure bullshit. I took it as a personal affront to me. Why didn’t he just give it to me if he didn’t want it?  I took my copy of Are You Experienced and broke it into little pieces and threw it in the trash.

Since then, I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach whenever I hear one of his songs or when someone talks about him. I usually don’t say anything, just change the channel, walk away, or ignore it as noise, but sometimes it brings up a plume of teenage angst in me and makes me feel ill.

And when I do say something, I, many times, get that tired old bullshit about how he was being artistic. Bullshit! He was hopelessly fucked up. And it killed him.