Metal Anarchy

Former Evey Time I Die frontman Keith Buckley has shared a new tribute for the late Andy Williams. He says the guitarist “made me feel like [he] belonged.”

Buckley said the following:

“Andy Williams made people feel like they belonged. There’s a truck stop on Walden Avenue in Cheektowaga right across from the mall called Jims Truck Stop and it sits at an exit where multiple highways merge. As a child I had been driven past it a lot and as a teenager I drove past it even more. I liked thinking about all the different lives that were gathering there.

And not just the sheer number of lives, the kind of lives too. Dads like Stallone in Over The Top or maybe even ladies like Large Marge in Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure. The ones pulling into and out of that truck stop knew paths I didn’t and that, to me, made them like characters from a Kerouac book.

In 1999, Andy and I were in Every Time I Die together. We practiced in the basement of Mike’s parents’ house in North Tonawanda. One night after practice I drove back to West Seneca where I grew up. When I got home, I found I was hungry and with the neon sign of Jims fresh in my mind from the ride I decided it was finally time to go check it out.

I didn’t really care about the food and I didn’t care that it meant getting back in the car. I just wanted to say I had been there. I wanted the experience. So after spending many years imagining the mysterious lives of the strangely beautiful people inside, I finally walked through the door. And there was Andy Williams, eating a meal.

When he saw me come in, it looked like he had been expecting me. He put his napkin down, stood up and hugged me and as he hugged me he said, ‘I love this fucking guy.’ He made me feel like I belonged.

I watched Andy do versions of that for other people for years. After playing a show and loading out, when everyone was exhausted and there were plenty of reasons to get out of there, Andy would go back inside the venue and make time for people. He stayed, because he loved to make a place feel like it had been waiting for you specifically.

I remember after one of our Christmas shows at the Town Ballroom, Andy unplugged his gear and started handing it out to people in the crowd as Christmas presents. His actual gear. And this wasn’t at a point in our lives where any of us had money. Andy didn’t have the means to replace what he was giving away. He just let it go.

Years later, when my daughter was born, Andy was the one who drove me to the hospital. I was terrified. I didn’t know if she was going to live and my brain was trying to control whatever was left to control. Naturally, I began giving Andy directions. I remember trying to tell him what roads to turn down. Finally he said, ‘Stop thinking about it. I’ll take care of it.’ So I did. Because Andy knew the route.

I knew the night at the truck stop was important, but it took me until the other night to understand why I can still remember every single detail of it after all this time – it’s because Andy was already there. Before I had even walked through the door, Andy had gone first and answered a question I didn’t know I was asking – ‘Where do I belong?’ That was Andy.

The thing he gave me that night – the wordless answer of ‘Right Here’ – wasn’t something he reserved just for his friends. For years I got to watch him share his light. His time, his attention, his love, his gear, whatever he had if it was his it was yours. And when there wasn’t anything he could give you to make your own sadness go away, or make your own pain stop hurting, he would just get in the car next to you, take the wheel, and tell you to trust him. And even if you didn’t know how you were going to get there, he saw the way ahead.

Rest well, Andy. Thank you for being with me on the road.”