April 7, 2005
Crowded House
Jill Brooks, INtake columnist

Many moons ago, I met the Aussie/ New Zealand band Crowded House at the Vogue. I’d planted myself out back after “sound check,” waited to collect autographs, and they asked where they could find a decent meal in Broad Ripple. Seeing that they needed an escort, I invited myself along and walked them to Union Jack Pub. As we left they mentioned that the girl opening up for them, a young and shy Sheryl Crow, and her band, would also join us.

We walked down Broad Ripple Avenue. Concentrating on the conversation was impossible due to craning my neck, hoping that someone—anyone I knew—would see me with them. My wish was never granted. We all sat in the back of the restaurant and none of the wait staff recognized them either. What a sad waste of a brush with fame.

We hung out after the show. They tolerated my nervous, persistent questioning about the inspiration for each and every song (oh, I was young), and I laughed at their jabs at American culture; I couldn’t help but agree, for the most part.

The following year, they returned for a huge show at Deer Creek (which will always be Deer Creek to me). My friend working at Clear Channel allowed me to ‘work’ backstage so I could bump into them again, which I did. My smile screamed: I’m with the band! My job was to cart them around running band errands all day.

Suffering from clinical depression, the drummer, Paul Hester, a jovial, kind mate, took him own life in Melbourne, Australia on March 26, 2005. Saddened by the news, I felt sure his disease was slightly contagious. What a sad waste of life.

Clinical depression affects over 19 million Americans each year; obviously it reaches the land down under, and the rest of the world too. 80% of people who seek treatment show signs of improvement, or are cured. The problem is that less than half of the clinically depressed seek treatment. They see it as a weakness within themselves, don’t believe that it’s truly a problem, or think they can lick it without professional help.

Paul left behind some platinum albums, a lot of fans, a girlfriend and two young daughters. To say, “How selfish” is to not understand clinical depression. I doubt that Paul sought his pain; I just wish he could have found a better way to end it. To anyone suffering from intolerable clinical depression, I say, get help. And hey now, don’t dream it’s over.