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chick-lit |
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m u s i c. m i s c h i e f. a r t. |
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After Mike Cleary passed away July 4,2001, I sent this obit to my email list. We held a fundraiser (which was originally slated to benefit the American Heart Association) in Mike’s honor in September, but the charity was changed after Mike’s cousin, Chris Allingham (a pallbearer at Mike’s funeral), died in the World Trade Center. The show benefited Chris’s children.
Dear Friends:
I regret that I am writing today to report some very sad news. Mike Cleary, a great personal friend and friend to countless musicians in New Jersey and New York, died suddenly July 4th of a massive heart attack at the age of 40. He died at his family's home while taking a nap after playing a basketball game. He'd had no history of heart disease, and was in good health. The news is shattering to his family and friends.
As I'm not sure who knew Mike and who didn't, I'm sending this note to anyone I think may have known him or made his acquaintance. Surely, many of you knew him by sight, as he was a fixture at so many of my gigs: He was of medium height and build; mostly bald with dark blonde hair; always wearing a t-shirt, baseball jacket and sneakers; and always carrying an array of folders, papers and God-knows-what under his arm. Mike always jokingly said that he himself wasn't sure what was in those folders, but he could find anything, if pressed.
On a personal level, Mike was instrumental in helping me launch Daddy's Little Girl, and he worked relentlessly to support a number of musical acts in addition to myself, such as the band Everlounge (formerly the Whirling Dervishes) and singer/songwriter Glen Burtnik, with whom he worked tirelessly each year on Glen's Christmas Extravaganza at NYC's Bottom Line.
Mike's career in music ran the gamut: A graduate of the Institute of Audio Research, he began as an assistant engineer and studio manager at several NJ recording studios. After that, he worked in music retailing, then moved on to work for Tenafly, NJ-based West West Side Music (a recording studio) and became a founding member of Deko Music (with Alan Douches and Steve Watson), a record label, also in Tenafly. In the last year, he had taken a job at Westwood Entertainment in Edison, NJ, a music licensing agency.
What made Mike so indispensable to so many was his good humor and his willingness to help out with all of the unglamorous tasks that need to be done to launch and sustain an independent project. He was quick to assist with lugging gear or stuffing envelopes, although I'd often joke with him that he was a much better talker than stuffer. (Mike LOVED to gab, anywhere, anytime, about anything.) He even came on tour with me one week while I was sick so that I wouldn't have to drive.
It was never about money, either. He was one of those rare birds who actually lived his dream, which was being entrenched in every aspect of the local music scene. To him, local music was where the action was, and nothing was more exciting or satisfying. He knew everyone and their histories--who had been in what band and when--and had an uncanny knack, as he said, for remembering tons of "useless information" when it came to the music biz. He often joked that he had a great ability to retain information; he just didn't know how to make any money from it.
Mike loved music, and he loved musicians even more. He devoted his life to them, patching odd jobs together so that he didn't have to work a nine-to-five job. It's perhaps fitting that such a supporter of independent music should pass into the next life on Independence Day.
Rest in peace, Mike. I will miss you, terribly. |
