Philly Lost Its Cool Uncle. RIP Pierre Robert.
If you’re lucky in life, you have a cool uncle. You know that uncle. He’s got a job, you think. Yeah, he does, but it’s a cool job. He doesn’t have any kids. Everyone likes him. You see him once or twice a year outside of holidays and birthdays. He has great taste in music that he’s eager to share with his niece/nephew’s developing mind and personality.
Uncle Bill
I had a cool uncle. Uncle Bill. Most years, I only saw him during holidays and my birthday. He’d show up with gifts in the bags from the stores at which he purchased them. He didn’t wrap them. That was part of his charm. My uncle Bill owned his own carpet installation business.
Between the ages of ten and thirteen, I spent summers working with him. The job sucked. The backside of carpets might be the roughest surface known to man. Carrying it, in a hugging style as instructed, tears up your biceps, chest, neck, and face. That was the lowlight of working with my cool uncle.
The highlight was the drive to and from the jobs, specifically the music he played while we drove. Sure, he’d play Cream now and then, but it was music that wasn’t Cream that made ripping the skin off my flesh worth it. It was listening to entire sides of albums, on cassette, from bands like The Zombies, The Animals, David Bowie, and Alice Cooper that made those days memorable.
The windows are down. The breeze blew in as streets and highways passed us by. His beat-up work van rattled everywhere as it rumbled around town. Eric Burdon’s cool voice singing, “There is a house in New Orleans, They call the rising sun.” It didn’t get much better than that. In moments like that, Uncle Bill was the coolest.
Uncle Pierre
On Wednesday afternoon, my buddy Bannon texted me about Pierre Robert’s death. I, like most of the Delaware Valley, was blown away. His voice, when you heard it on WMMR, was a cozy, warm blanket that made us feel comfortable–like home. He just posted on Instagram on Sunday, looking rather content and healthy, sitting in Rittenhouse Square with a coffee and a book.
I couldn’t help but feel like Philadelphia lost its cool uncle. For those who were his friends, worked with him, or were related to him, the loss is much deeper. But, for the rest of us, he really felt like our cool uncle.
He had long hair. Everyone liked him. He had a cool job. And, if you were lucky, you’d bump into him around town once or twice a year. More importantly, he’d turn you on to great music.
Sure, you’d have to sit through songs from Grateful Dead, Little Feat, and Beru Revue, much like my Uncle Bill would play the shit out of Cream. But the payoff was worth it. Pierre would play Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, John Lennon, David Bowie, Buffalo Springfield, Squeeze, Cheap Trick, and tell you why they were cool. He’d give you the backstory on the songs. He’d turn you on to songs you never knew were subtle protest songs.
And, just like the cool uncle, everyone liked him. No matter where he went, people wanted to say hello. People wanted their picture taken with him. He treated everyone with respect.
Pierre Sightings
I was lucky enough to cross paths with Pierre Robert multiple times. Once, at the DNC convention in 2016. Another time, he came out for the last night of the original owners at Southwark Bar.
The first time I met him, I was working the ticket table at the first Philly Fringe Festival. He came in to buy tickets. I had a couple of my fingernails painted black. He complimented me on my nails and then said, “Check this out!” He proceeded to put his bare foot on the ticket table to show me his painted toenails. We bonded. If anyone else put their bare foot on the table, we probably would’ve kicked them out. Not Pierre Robert. We bonded. He was the coolest.
I never asked Pierre for a picture over the years, and I regret that now. But, I did get a great shot of him with Kip, the original owner of Southwark.
Be Like Pierre
As Philly’s cool uncle has transitioned to his next journey, I think it’s our duty to be someone’s cool uncle to keep Pierre’s legacy alive. Turn younger generations onto timeless music that means something. Music that preaches questioning authority and, most importantly, being a good person–a good citizen.
Philly has lost its cool uncle and maybe its Greatest Citizen. RIP Pierre Robert.