Dear Keith Morris,
I love you.
You’re a punk rock icon.
Your resume includes being the singer for such luminary bands as Black Flag, Circle Jerks and Off!
But please, for the love of God, shave your head. It’s getting awkward.
When I saw you play with the Circle Jerks on the reunion tour in 1995 you had dreadlocks all the way down to your knees. Some people scoff at the idea of an older white man having dreads, but I was all for it. It looked cool.
But that was 17 years ago, and a lot of things have changed since then. Mostly, the top of your head’s ability to produce and maintain hair follicles. Perhaps you’ve taken your song “Deny Everything” a bit too seriously.
When I saw you play with your new band Off! this past year, your energy and charisma were through the roof. You followed a young band, Trash Talk, who I didn’t think you could possibly top. But you did. Until you started to sweat and things started to unravel. Literally.
I realized, with mounting horror, that not only had you gone 95% bald on the top of your head, but that you’d attempted to comb it over with the one single, solitary dreadlock that remained on your forehead.
This is the part where I remind you that I’m on your team. You’re awesome. Only a handful of singers in hardcore punk can even come close to holding a candle to you. But you have hair that even Donald Trump would snicker at.
Please shave it off.
They say never meet your heroes. And while I didn’t actually meet you that night, I did see you from five feet away as your sweaty, barely-hanging-on last dread whipped around like the saddest helicopter ever. Like the last leaf clinging to the tree in fall. I was afraid that with each twirl, that dread was finally going to snap off and fly into my hands and I’d be standing there holding it like a dead, wet ferret.
Trust me, I get it. I’m a bald man myself. Like you, I had long-ish hair when it started to go. I fought the urge to deal with it for a few years too many. One time I went swimming in a public pool and my hair was so weak it had turned yellow. It looked like a handful of wet spagetthi falling off the front of my face.
You and I both know what it’s like to be afraid of the wind. If I even so much as saw a flag blowing I wouldn’t go outside for fear that my hair would come unhinged.
Nobody will tell you this because everybody’s afraid of you. As stated, you’re a punk rock legend who used to and/or still may be on heavy drugs. At the very least you are unpredictable. The only reason I’m saying this now is because I’m on the internet and I can hide behind my laptop. I live in Minnesota, so if you come looking for me please wear a hat. It gets really chilly up here and I don’t want one of my all-time favorite singers to get pneumonia and die.
I don’t want that guilt in my head. My head which is hairless, like yours should be.
One of your biggest fans,