Chicago... and the Road to California
A brief encounter with the late Effigies frontman John Kezdy
John Kezdy passed away this past weekend, the result of injuries sustained after the bicycle he was riding collided with an Amazon van that was illegally parked in a Glencoe, IL bike lane.
If you’re not from Chicago and/or a fan of ‘80s punk rock, John’s name probably won’t mean much to you. But within the confines of the Windy City, John’s band The Effigies remains deeply revered for being one of Chicago’s first important punk ensembles. It’s a story best told by my friend Joe Losurda’s fantastic 2007 documentary You Weren’t There: A History of Chicago Punk 1977-1984… but basically, Chicago was weirdly late to the punk movement, and it took the efforts of bands like The Effigies and Naked Raygun to really get a local scene going in earnest.
From local political references (like the title of their 1983 EP We’re Da Machine) to their blue collar, no-bullshit musical attack, everything about The Effigies positively reeked of Chicago. And, in typical Chicago fashion, they made no bones about expressing their disdain for many of the local punk bands who came after them — among the several still-smoldering beefs on display in You Weren’t There is one between The Effigies and the younger, far-less-serious Rights of the Accused — though they could also be incredibly generous and supportive to the bands they dug.
But even though The Effigies’ first and most important records were released while I was in high school, I completely missed them at the time. The title of Joe’s doc is correct — I wasn’t there; with the exception of one Savage Beliefs show at the Centro- American Social Club, I gave the local punk and hardcore scene a wide birth. Musically, aesthetically and socially, it was quickly obvious to me that it wasn’t my thing at all. And though I would later become good friends with a lot of people who had played very active roles in said scene, for whatever reason I’ve still never really connected with ‘80s (or ‘90s) Chicago punk. So while I certainly appreciate what The Effigies did from a historical perspective, I can’t say that I’ve spent a whole lot of time with their catalog over the years.
Which is why, the one time I met John Kezdy, I didn’t recognize him. It was the night after Thanksgiving 2022; Erica, an old friend I hadn’t seen in literally 30 years, had noticed on Facebook that I’d recently relocated to the Hudson Valley, and kindly invited me to come for a leftovers feast at the large nearby home that she and a number of her family members had rented out for a holiday reunion.
I’d gathered from Erica’s FB posts that her husband John was an attorney of considerable repute, and that the two of them had been wounded in the horrific mass shooting perpetrated during the Highland Park Fourth of July parade (and thankfully since recovered), but that was about it. Shortly after I arrived at her family’s rental, Erica introduced me to John, who immediately led me down to the basement fridge to help me procure a drinkable beer amid the considerable supply of IPAs that had been amassed.
“You’re the baseball guy, right?” he asked. When I acknowledged that I indeed was, he proceeded to share some childhood White Sox memories with me, which of course paved the way for more Chicago talk, complete with all the usual humorous grumbling about various neighborhoods and institutions and public figures that inevitably happens when two people with Chicago roots meet up on foreign soil. John was clearly a little older than me, and definitely had the no-BS bearing of a veteran prosecutor; but once he found out where I’d gone to high school, he asked about a couple of my classmates that he’d known back in the day from the local punk scene. I obviously knew this guy from somewhere, but I just couldn’t put my finger on it.
“Erica,” I asked, once I returned to the kitchen. “What’s John’s last name?”
“Kezdy.”
“Wait — the John Kezdy?”
“Yes, legendary Chicago curmudgeon John Kezdy,” she laughed.
Indeed, I remembered now that I had seen him being curmudgeonly as all hell in You Weren’t There, and I’d certainly caught more than a whiff of that in our initial conversation, but I’d also caught a bit of a twinkle in his eye — there was a palpable warmth and sense of humor behind the intense facade. I instinctively liked the guy.
John and I talked some more as the evening went on. Our conversation quickly turned to music — and once he realized that I wasn’t going to punish him with Effigies questions or try to drag him down punk memory lane, he seemed to visibly relax. We talked mostly about ‘60s jazz and ‘70s hard rock (two of his favorite genres) well as the joys of vinyl records and how much fun it was to go record shopping in unfamiliar towns. I was gonna invite him to hit Rocket Number Nine with me in Kingston, but he was making a solo drive back to Chicago the next day, a trek which would give him time to listen to some of his latest musical obsessions.
“Hey, have you ever heard of Rock Feinstein?” he asked me at one point. Deep as I tend to go in the hard rock world, I had to confess that such a memorable appellation was completely new to me. John explained that David “Rock” Feinstein was a cousin of Jagged Time Lapse favorite Ronnie James Dio, and had played guitar in Elf, Dio’s pre-Rainbow band before going on to further hard rock semi-fame with The Rods. He’d also fronted a short-lived project called Dave Feinstein’s Thunder, which had released a song called “Road to California” on a 1978 compilation of upstate New York bands called Sounds ‘79. I forget John’s story of how he had discovered it, but he told me that “Road to California” was completely ridiculous and I absolutely had to hear it.
When it came time to for me to head home, John told me that I was welcome to come and stay with him and Erica whenever I was back in Chicago, which made me feel like I’d passed some kind of test — legendary Chicago curmudgeon John Kezdy had apparently enjoyed talking to me as much as I’d enjoyed talking to him.
This was further confirmed two days later, when John had Erica relay the YouTube link to “Road to California” to me via text, along with a link for David Feinstein’s Encyclopedia Metallum entry. “More background from John,” she wrote. “He’s taken time out on his road trip to share this with you!”
I told her I was honored, and she laughed… but I wasn’t joking. It’s always a treat to really connect with someone over music, and it always feels like an honor when — a day or week or month after the fact — they later go out of their way to either pick up the conversation where it left off, or remind me to check out something that they just know I’ll dig, to make sure I don’t go another day without it. And though I only got to meet John Kezdy once, I am really thankful that we got to connect on that level.
As for “Road to California” — yeah, it’s pretty fucking ridiculous. If rampaging post-Purple heavosity is your thing (and it definitely is mine) I highly recommend giving it a listen. It reminds me a little of Sorcery, the wizard-assisted band from the 1978 film Stunt Rock, which is something I definitely would have brought up to John the next time we met…
Alas, there isn’t going to be a next time, though my sadness over that is certainly nowhere near the scale of loss that Erica and their kids are feeling right now. Just seeing John with them for those few hours, I could tell that he was a loving and deeply devoted husband and father; not just a “good guy,” in Chicago parlance, but a truly good man — one who will clearly be profoundly missed. My love and condolences go out to all who knew him.
John, wherever your spirit is right now, I hope it’s on the Road to California. May you Rest (and rock) In Peace.
[EDIT: It has come to my attention that, in lieu of flowers, John’s family has suggested that donations can be made in his name to WDCB College of Du Page Public Radio.]
Thanks for reading Jagged Time Lapse. In celebration of this substack’s first anniversary, I’m offering 10 percent off annual subscriptions to all new JTL subscribers. Just click the button below for your cavalcade of savings —subscribe by September 15, and you’ll save 25% off the cost of 12 months at the monthly rate!
Fantastic piece.
As always, great writing.