Zïlon Lazer Photo courtesy of Zïlon Lazer Circa 2000
One year ago Zïlon died. He was discovered unconscious and unresponsive in his Montreal apartment. The news that he had died didn't hit the internet and news media until three days later on July 29th, 2023. The art world was upended. The lives of those who knew and loved him were instantly shattered and broken. Like being sucked into one of his screaming tableaux, trapped by anxiety, grief and mourning. No exit!
The Sign of the Times
Zïlon was born in the 1950s and grew up in his nuclear family in the French Canadian city of Laval, Quebec. These were conservative times and nonconformists were not looked upon kindly. You either fit in, or you were an outsider. While the Cold War still hovered over lives and the real presence of a nuclear war threatened our existence, this just added more fuel to the flames of the times. The young Raymond chose the latter.
Zïlon Lazer Photo courtesy of Zïlon Lazer
In 1984, he would express his defiance when he would write the cynical lyrics and music to 'Industrial Park', a tongue in cheek song about growing up in suburbia and having to conform to its unacceptable status quo.
In the late 1970s, Zïlon and musician Michel Smith crossed paths as they shared a common interest in the experimental music of Terry Riley, Tangerine Dream and Fripp and Eno's 'No Pussyfooting' album. This would mark the beginning of his journey into his own experiments using tape tape loops and synthesizers. His AKS Synthi would become his 'weapon of choice' in the studio, at jams and on stage.
In the early 1980s, Zilon liberally exercised his artistic right to express himself by embellishing Montreal's downtown core with cans of black spray paint. Under cover of night, he would leave his signature screaming face and short stylistic slogans on every wall, doorway, nightclub bathroom, alleyway, and abandoned building he could. Years later, this graffiti art would be recognized as a valid form of artistic expression.
Photo courtesy of Zïlon Lazer Circa 1980
These were important times for the young assertive Zïlon and they would shape and define who he was in the burgeoning Montreal counterculture movement. Art and music meshed at his Graffiti Cocktail parties, the Piss Tunnel, the abandoned Queen's Hotel jams, random art installations, while working on his music at home and gigging as Vava & Zilon. The invincible Zïlon would put down his roots in this no holds barred movement. It would eventually propel him into his future with hopes, dreams, desires and inevitably, success.
Zïlon was a frontline pioneer of the art and post punk/new wave scene that was growing across North America, the UK and Europe. He was firmly entrenched in Montreal's charged counterculture scene. He rubbed shoulders with Montreal's forward thinkers, as the up and coming artists and musicians descended upon Montreal's nightlife and held it for one decade. The 80s was the beginning of an intensely chaotic and improvise-as-you-go approach to music, art and lifestyle. Every man for himself, every band for themselves, do it yourself. The competition for gigs, exposure, press coverage, interviews, photo ops, tv appearances, music videos and the like was fierce. Zïlon, being a very savvy artist, took advantage of every opportunity the times had to offer.
Courtesy of Zïlon Lazer Circa 1980
Who is this Zïlon guy?
I'll never forget the night in 1983 when Zïlon walked into Les Foufounes Électriques while I was at work. He casually walked up to the bar and asked me if I would like to make music with him. I had never met him face to face but had heard chatter of his bad boy persona, the jams in dilapidated buildings and his nocturnal late night escapades, spray cans at the ready. While he was out on the streets doing his thing, I was gigging with The Essentials, Popstress and Duotang. I was finally taking a well-deserved break after 3 years of all this. I said "Yes"!
Zilon was amazing to work with! We had so much fun together cracking jokes, naming our song with crazy titles like 'I've Got Gas" and making fun of the bridge and tunnel crowds who invaded our beloved Foufounes Électriques every weekend.
Our recordings and mix-downs were live, intuitive one-take songs. The first song we recorded together was 'Fettucini Alfredo'. That day, the apartment studio had been emptied for some renovations, and our gear, the TEAC and the PA were in the hallway. We set up, did a quick soundcheck and hit 'record/play', vocals and all. The rest is history!
Zïlon had a natural sense of where he was going with music and an extremely sharp ear. He loved mixing lo-fi with hi-fi. At that time, he had a drum machine which he ran through a digital delay, his Synthi AKS synth, a 2-track Fostex cassette Portastudio and a few mics. I had a Pro-One, a Korg PS-3300, a Korg VC-10 Vocoder and a 4-track Fostex cassette Portastudio cassette. It was a match from noise hell!
When we jammed, there was no 'just a minute while I find my sound" delays. He jumped in with gusto and nailed it. Every sound he programmed was out of this world. He knew his instruments inside/out and it was obvious he had worked extensively with them.
Zïlon Lazer at work in the 1970s Photo courtesy of Diane Béatrice Lassonde Circa 1978
We had the good habit of picking up metal junk from the streets and mixed those improvised beats and sounds into our music. Often times, we enhanced our live shows with our beautiful finds. We both liked to pound on metal. It was a great way to release our frustrations!
Vava Vol & Zilon Lazer at Les Foufounes Électriques in 1984
Zïlon also had an incredible singing voice He was very fond of Gregorian Chants and incorporated his take of them into our songs. He stunned a warehouse full of midnight jammers one night when he broke out into a Gregorian Chant soprano. We were absolutely stunned as no one had ever heard him sing like that! That's how he was. Intuitive, spontaneous and right on. You couldn't help but love him!
Zïlon sings is one of a series of jams he recorded in an
abandoned warehouse. Photos courtesy of Zïlon Lazer circa 1980.
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Zïlon reminded me of The Hermit, an old soul in the body of a strong young man, mysterious and arcane, talented and luminescent. He lived in the now and relied on his inner self for guidance. There is only one time that is important and that time is now!
He had a confident calmness and a strange controlled energy buzzing around him. His strong inner light fueled his determination to overcome obstacles on his quest for success. His dazzling blue eyes glistened with great intelligence. They reflected his acute knowledge and skillfulness of the 'do it yourself' self made culture to which he adhered to his entire life. Zïlon renamed it 'do it for yourself'. He was easily misunderstood by many, but admired and loved by those who did. With a generous, warm-hearted and huge hart, there was nothing he wouldn't for those whom he loved.
The page turned when the 1990s eclipsed the 1980s. A stable full of new musicians, chomping at the music business bit eagerly burst through the floodgates. Anxious to get their cut of the explosive new music scene, they jockeyed for their places in the hall of fame and fortune. The influential 80s were gone, but never forgotten.
By then, Zïlon's notoriety had grown fast and furious as his provocative paintings caught the attention of the art world. His dream was about to come true!
Zïlon with Pierre Dorion at his 2005 show at René Blouin! Photo by Vava Vol 2005
Zïlon, Georges and myself as Sensitiv Organz live at Les Foufounes Électriques in 1986. In the middle of the show, George broke a string on his guitar but didn't miss a single note as he kept on playing til the bitter end! What a trooper! Vava Vol 1980s archives
It is with a heavy
heart that I mark the passing of one year since the death of Zïlon/Raymond
Pilon. He and I had an uninterrupted friendship that lasted 43 years, until his
death. He ended his days exhausted, drained by the business of art and the
world in which we live.
"I'm known but
not renowned", he used to say. He couldn't understand how he still had to
prove himself after nearly 50 years as an artist. What did he still need to
prove? It was often said, if Zïlon had lived elsewhere, he would have been
celebrated for his immense talent. When he went to New York in the '80s and
stopped at Keith Haring's Pop Shop, he would say "that could have been
me...".
Every New Year's Day,
he would say, "This year is going to be the one. I can feel it.",
because he'd been offered an important contract or promising projects. He
believed in the spark that would light a blaze. Then one day, he stopped saying
it. He told me: “I don't believe in it anymore.” He realized that the sparks were
only misfires, extinguished as soon as they were lit.
When he was young, he
worked on construction sites for a few months. To say that he was out of place
and was cruelly reminded of it would be an understatement. In this hostile
environment, he tried to gain acceptance among the workers by drawing caricatures
of the bosses, which made his colleagues laugh. Art was his way of connecting.
To be accepted. To be loved. On his terms.
In restaurants, he
would draw on paper placemats and napkins. The waiters would often ask him for
a drawing. He was always delighted to give them a gift. Zïlon was difficult to
approach but had a gentle heart. He simply had to be won over.
He was among the
collateral damage of Covid. Confinement killed him. Like being locked away and
left for dead. Orwell's nightmare where life is dictated by the authorities in
a bureaucratic hell. Forced isolation. Cutting all ties. No faces anymore. Just
masks. For him, art was his way of reaching out. At the risk of sounding sappy,
he perfectly illustrated the innate need to make connections by creating
artwork. "That's all I know ", he used to say. Often that
outstretched hand was a clenched fist. Some cannot grab onto life any other way.
He often said that he
should have died in the '90s, before the world around us faded away.
A long time ago, he
had a project where he went to a class of young people with special needs. He
drew with them. He was blown away by their joy, as they marveled at the
pleasure of colour and shapes on paper. For him, this was art in its purest
sense. He stayed on a high for quite some time after this experience. But
eventually, reality called him back to order.
He dreamed of one day
becoming an old painter who would live secluded in his little house and spend
his time painting simply for the love of painting, and perhaps have one
exhibition a year. He could never reconcile his passion for creativity with the
mercantile nature of the art business.
Zïlon had a highly
compartmentalized life, and different groups rarely interacted. If they did, it
was infrequent and short-lived. If you were part of one group you rarely
shifted into another, because he guarded his truly private life from his
acquaintances. Those he called his real friends could be counted on the fingers
of one hand.
He cried out loud and
clear to people who turned a deaf ear or were absent.
He spent much of his
adult life battling panic attacks. This soon earned him prescriptions for Xanax
and other benzodiazepines, for thirty years. Without hesitation, despite his
predisposition to addiction, having an alcoholic father and a mother numbed by Valium
all her life, without regard for the glaring risk this represented, he was kept
on these drugs. Though he didn't commit suicide, decades of benzos took away
his will to live. Towards the end of his life, he would often say, "I'm
tired of living”.
Zïlon had a piercing
lucidity. He used to say “A dead artist is a good artist.” He scoffed at
posterity because he knew it was a farce. He knew that in the collective
memory, too few will remember the person, and too many will remember the
persona.
They say, 'Buy art
from living artists. Those who are dead don't need money." And that’s so
true. It's while they’re alive that artists’ achievements should be recognized,
because once they’re dead what's left will be used to enrich the gallerists, agents, and self-serving opportunists. That's all there is to it. They
are the only ones who gain from an artist’s death. And winning in death is no
victory at all.
What remains after
death are memories rooted in the souls of others, and if one was an artist,
what he or she created should be part of our cultural heritage. An artist's
work should be preserved and protected as cultural heritage, just like heritage
buildings are. But the law doesn't give this protection to an artist's work. So
there are those who will exploit it, monetize it and squander it. A few, here
and there, will remember the emotion and the gestures and pay homage to the
friend and his creative spirit.
Zïlon believed in
friendship above all else. He refused to accept that we are alone in the world
and that no one can feel the life of another. He would say, "If we're
alone, then it's not worth living." He believed that the only true bonds
were those of the heart, not of the blood. He always talked about creating his “tribe",
friends who would have been there for each other, with integrity and loyalty.
The last time we
spoke, on his birthday, which was also the day he died, he told me that he
would likely end up in an old folks' home, and that if that was the case, he didn't
want to make it to 70. Because he knew that years go by quickly, and he knew
the fate of old people here. He had accompanied his mother during the last
years of her life.
He liked to sleep.
Even as a young man, when we lived together, he liked to take naps. He said he
could escape all his worries. He often dreamed he was flying. I hope the last
time you fell asleep for eternity you did so gently. I hope you found the peace
you were looking for, my lifelong friend. I miss you.