To his closest friends, the late Gene "Eugene" Andrusco was an artist of pointed extremes: Exasperating yet exhilarating. Laid back yet intense. Outgoing and personable yet private and almost impossible to completely know. An uncommonly gifted producer, engineer and musician, and a fanatical baseball follower who kept track of stats on his studio computer during recording sessions. A hater of all things colored green, even green-hued food, who nevertheless named his recording studio "The Green Room." Irreverent and silly but filled with deep faith.
Andrusco, a pioneer of alternative Christian music who set creative standards with Adam Again and Lost Dogs and left an indelible, unpr
ecedented mark as a producer and engineer on hundreds of albums, died in his sleep at his Green Room in Huntington Beach, Calif., on March 20. He was 39. The cause of death has yet to be determined.
His death so early in life was a shock to those who loved him and worked with him, and it pushed to the surface a flood of countless memories within the collective consciousness of his compatriots.
"It1s like he was from another era, the 130s or 140s," says Mike Roe, a fellow Lost Dog and leader of The 77s. "He looked like one of the Bowery Boys, like a guy you1d see at the horse races, chomping a cigar and laying bets, which is what Gene did! He looked like a little old man with his pudgy, little frame. Gene reminded me of other people and other places.
"My favorite Gene story was Terry Taylor1s birthday party during the Lost Dogs tour in 1996," Roe recalls. "We were in a bar in Gettysburg, Penn., and all of a sudden a fight broke out. Then Gene does his Œrubber pencil1 routine for the girls and guys who were fighting! He did this ridiculous gag all night, to an annoying level. He even did it for the bar1s large, Amish bouncer, and Gene got this stoic guy to smile for a flash of a second!"
Andrusco did "amazing musical things all the time," Roe continues. "He was ridiculously talented. He could play all the instruments, even drums, and brought something unique to each one. He wasn1t an exacting technician, but a natural one."
Despite his musical prowess, Roe says Andrusco was "a lot more proud of his production and engineering. He spent so much time helping other musicians that he didn1t have time to indulge himself in his own music."
In the mid-to-late 180s, when alternative Christian rock was being invented, bands like The 77s, Adam Again and The Choir were indeed kings of the hill, but it was an awfully small hill. Fellow Lost Dog and Choir frontman Derri Daugherty remembers that even groundbreaking Choir and Adam Again recordings, Chase the Kangaroo and 10 Songs, were patchwork efforts made at the same studio at the same time‹and depended on both bands engineering and performing on each other1s tracks to keep costs down.
"We worked around the clock," Daugherty says. "I engineered for Adam Again, and Gene engineered for us. Then he went on tour with us for a month, playing keyboards and guitar. Gene and I were very good friends by the time Lost Dogs happened."
According to Daugherty and several others, Andrusco "was pretty closed emotionally, [even] about his faith. He was a strong believer, but he just didn1t sit around and discuss doctrine and theology." But just before his death, Daugherty says, Andrusco started opening up. "Last year when my wife came down with breast cancer, Gene called me and said, ŒI1ve been praying for Marlei and hope she1s doing well.1 All the time I1d known Gene, he never said, ŒI1m praying for you.1 So we talked for a while, and we touched on things we never had before."
Daugherty was one of the pallbearers at Andrusco1s funeral. "After the service about 100 people went to The Green Room," he recalls. "We had food there, a picture of Gene on the mixing board, and just played Gene records, one after the other. People were singing along, crying at times. It was a real release, a good way to say goodbye."
Undercover1s Joe Taylor‹who started Brainstorm Artists International with Andrusco‹added that the funeral "was packed with so many styles of music. Jon Gibson and Crystal Lewis sang at the grave site. Up-and-coming punks were there with record label execs."
That kind of multi-genre representation proves, Taylor says, that Andrusco1s death has created an unfillable void. "It1s gonna change things," Taylor says gravely. "The Green Room was kind of a vortex of activity, and Gene held a lot of stuff together. Where are all these bands gonna do their records now? It1s a real loss."
Despite the tragedy, Taylor says nothing can take away countless fond memories, like the time he and Andrusco drove back to Los Angeles from a San Francisco gig in 1985. "Gene and I were in a pickup with my son between us in a car seat. Late at night, Gene1s head was bobbing all over the place for like 20 minutes. Finally, Gene1s head and my kid1s head rested on each other. It may not seem like much, but to me, I1ll always remember this very complicated, brilliant guy who can be sensitive and human enough to fall asleep in a pickup truck resting against a child1s head."
Choir drummer and lyricist Steve Hindalong notes that Andrusco1s "shenanigans" will be sorely missed. Hindalong recalls, "Mike Roe would be furious at Gene for mismanaging funds and product money. But no one could be mad at Gene. He was so enjoyable to be around that you just forgave him instantly.
"And Gene himself was a gracious and forgiving person. Several years ago I had offended him deeply, and it damaged our relationship. Then one day he just came up to me and said, ŒSteve, I forgot all about that,1 and we went on. I was so grateful we restored things before he died, and it made me want to run to everyone I had a problem with and seek healing. Life is too short for there not to be forgiveness."
John Knox, Adam Again drummer for many years, says, "It was like he accomplished what he needed to accomplish here on earth, and then bam! He1s with the Lord. I miss the guy."
Ever since Andrusco produced Rocket and a Bomb‹the 1994 solo album by L.S.U.1s Michael Knott‹Andrusco and Knott became best friends. "We would talk every day," Knott says. "Gene held his cards really close. He was a private person. But there were a few people he1d rap with every day."
Knott doesn1t have funny or poignant stories about Andrusco, only that he was "Sa loving guy who helped everybody out. He never charged what he should have charged for his production and engineering, and he helped record labels make hundreds of thousands of dollars from album sales. For Gene, his work was his art, and he was just happy to pay the rent at The Green Room."
At the funeral, Knott recited a short note to Andrusco, "the most talented gift of God that I personally have ever known. A person of discernment. A vehicle of giving. Mixed with love and understanding. Needed beyond comprehension. With a willingness to admit wrong while forgiving those who had wronged him. A very, very private, unpretentious friend who loved the opposite. A cautious individual who had his moments of reckless abandon. A true believer in Christ as his Lord and Savior with an intricate need to hide this truth in his heart. A helper, personally, in my family1s lives that we shall never see the likes of again. Gene, I miss you so much."
