Yesterday my friend Bruce Allen passed away.  Most people probably knew Bruce as the guitarist and art extraordinaire of the local Twin Cities band The Suburbs, but to me Bruce was my friend, colleague, and someone who made me smile three or four days a week for several years.

Back in 2001 I worked at Schmitt Music Centers in Brooklyn Center, MN.  The company was going through a major infrastructural change at the time, moving the bulk of their print music services from the downtown Minneapolis location to Brooklyn Center.   New faces appeared around the store along with the influx of huge amounts of print music, and among these new faces was Bruce.  At the time there wasn’t much space in the building, and new areas had to be carved out in the back room to accommodate new work spaces for the new transfers.  Bruce had a small desk set up in a back hallway that led to the backstock area where salesfloor people would often go to find products for customers.

That first day the new folks arrived I floated around introducing myself.  I was interested in what their jobs were and asked each what they did.  Bruce was in charge of facilitating music orders along with a few other people.  His girlfriend Bonni (although I do not think they were dating just yet) helped people find their print music on the salesfloor.

Each day I made a habit when I first arrived to greet everyone on the job and see how they were doing.  Bruce always had an energy that I marveled at.  Many people would complain about all the changes going on in the building, but not Bruce.  Few were ever so committed to positivity. We’d talk about classic and modern rock bands – we enjoyed the excuse to escape the daily grind if only for a few minutes.

At the time I was cultivating a deeper sense of local music history.  One day I was speaking with my manager Jeremy about local bands from the 80’s, and The Suburbs name came up.  Jeremy mentioned he knew a guy from The Suburbs, and with wide-eyes I responded “really”? He came back, “well I should hope so. He works right in back! It’s Bruce Allen”!  After several months of shooting the breeze with Bruce, I had never known this.  Bruce had never told me.  He was so admirably modest.

Bruce and Bonni

One day Bruce swung into the store with Chris Osgood from the Suicide Commandos.   They had put together a new project they called the X-Boys and Chris needed a decent sounding, portable amplifier to take out to gigs.   Bruce thought I was just the one to help out, but even further, he introduced me to Chris not as “Joe Schmitt Music Salesman,” but as Stephen, his friend.  Bruce loved his friends, and he loved bringing people together.

It wasn’t long afterward that Bruce began a battle with incessant kidney stones.  Everyone caringly chattered about it except for Bruce.  If you brought it up to him with a causal “how are you feeling today,” he’d deal you some sort of glass half full response with a smile.   He never wanted anyone’s pity; he was a true fighter. Doctor’s tried to figure out why every time he’d pass the stones more would return.   They never did, and Bruce just kept on marching forward. Eventually it became so bad that he would miss two, three, or even five days of work a week because the pain was so excruciating.   But when he did show up, he worked as hard as anyone I’ve ever seen, and that smile never faded.  The only time I would get a sense that anything was wrong was when I quietly rounded that corner into the hallway without him noticing and for just a few seconds there would be a wince on his face.  As soon as he realized someone else was around, that wince was gone.

Eventually I left Schmitt Music for graduate school, and with my moving away many of my Schmitt relationships faded.  After living in Mankato for about a year I contacted Bruce in 2006 and asked him if he wanted to meet up for some food.   I had a bone-brained idea that I wanted to bounce off him, and Bruce had always been willing to listen to my bone-brained ideas.  At his choosing, we met up at Liquor Lyle’s in Uptown for some wings.  Schmitt Music had just gone through some layoffs, and Bruce was out of work.  Even though he had lost his medical insurance in the process and his overall diagnosis was only slightly improved, he was as optimistic as ever!  He told me about how excited he was that he now had time to reestablish his art career and gave me his card – Bruce Allen Art & Design (BAAD).  We talked for two to three hours over wings and mozzarella sticks.

We left Liquor Lyle’s and continued chatting in the back parking lot until we were confronted by some belligerent drunk guy who was upset that we were standing too close to his vehicle.  Bruce threw a couple kind sentences in his direction and in no time the drunk dude was talking to us like we were childhood friends (figuratively, of course).  Bruce had this way of communicating with people that made it near impossible to look sorely on him.  It was that smile. It was the last time I saw that smile.

You were one of the great ones, Bruce.  You overcame so many challenges, and during my time spent with you left such an impression, that if ever I can emulate even a third of the life examples you set before me, I’ll be a better man.  Many will remember you for your brilliant music and art, but I’ll remember you for everything I’ve written here, and so much more.  I’ll miss you my friend, and I’ll never forget you.

My deepest condolences go out to Bruce’s family, friends, and Bonni.

- Skelly

Here are a couple musical memories in honor of Bruce.

[audio=http://borangutan.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/12/32-Cows.mp3]

“Cows” live, from High Fidelity Boys 1979 by: The Suburbs

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posted December 8th, 2009 at 12:29 pm MN Rock Bruce Allen, The Suburbs