As a proverbial “troubled teen,” a bit of a shy outcast trying to figure out who I was and, more importantly at the time, developing and molding my musical tastes, Cincinnati band Red Math — and, specifically, the Alternative/Post Punk/New Wave group’s enigmatic singer Paul Stewart — were unequivocal Rock Stars to me.
According to social media posts from friends and former bandmates, Stewart died suddenly earlier this week at the age of 56. (Friends say his death was related to ongoing heart problems.)
The development of my musical taste for many years trended towards “Alternative music,” which isn’t what it was called at the time, but basically encompassed Punk, Post Punk, New Wave and, as it was dubbed by some back then, “College Rock.” This was when that music was pretty far from the mainstream, with a few exceptions busting through but a decade before the “Alternative music revolution” made snarky hipsters start saying “Alternative to what?”
Cincinnati music was essential to my musical evolution. In junior high, a friend (who also recently passed away) turned me on to The Raisins, who I held in the same regard as other international favorites, like The Police, The English Beat or The Cure.
In high school, thanks to some other friends, I’d similarly become enamored with Cincinnati Punk legends like SS-20 and Human Zoo right around the same time I discovered the more “New Wave” side of Cincinnati’s musical underground. That scene was led by Sleep Theatre and Red Math, who performed at larger venues that I could actually get into in high school like Bogart’s, and had their music played on local radio outlets like 97X and WVXU (on the Public Radio station’s crucial Nightwaves new music program).
Paul Stewart stands out to me as the face and voice of that sound and era — the mid- to late-’80s — of Cincinnati music. Red Math should have been huge, their influence felt well beyond Cincinnati, but it was not to be. Along with the careers of those aforementioned acts so important to me back then (and still), the fact that Red Math wasn’t more widely known was my introduction to the concept that there is no real justice in the “music biz.” Where I’d assumed growing up that these big bands I listened to were obviously the most talented musicians in the world, artists like Red Math made me realize there is an enormous underground that is chock full of groups with just as much — if not way more — talent, charisma and great songs as the superstars.
But my memory of Paul Stewart — who earlier fronted Junta, a band that featured future members of the more gritty and experimental Wolverton Brothers — isn’t tainted by any feelings of “what could have been.” My memories are frozen in the late ’80s, with his unique steel-guitar playing and voice — anxious, mysterious, romantic — soaring above a concert audience or wafting through the speakers in my basement bedroom.
My group of high school friends included the younger brother of
Red Math’s founding bassist, so a bit of the in-awe mystique surrounding the band was lessened ever-so-slightly (just from seeing Paul Brooke walk into the kitchen of their parents’ house while we were hanging out and watching music videos or something).
But not when it came to Stewart — to me he was (and, in my memory, remains) the captivating enigma on stage with the billowing, ghostly-white outfits and otherworldly voice. He glowed, aurally and visually. Paul and Red Math shape-shifted my perspective on music and showed me that you didn’t have to be in New York or L.A. or London or Paris to make such enchantingly exotic sounds (or to hear it as made by people who live in your own backyard).
In my world (admittedly one built around a passion and need for music), Paul Stewart is a legendary figure. In his time on stages in the ’80s, his influence as an artist on kids and young adults is way more vast than he ever knew. Like many other artists, he helped shape my perspective on not only music and art but also identity and what it means to be free to be yourself, even if you’re afraid because you think you’re a little too weird. To leave that kind of subtle yet deep and enduring legacy is something we would all consider ourselves lucky to do when our time is over in this world. Reading comments from Paul’s friends after news of his passing spread, it’s clear he had a big effect on people long past his performing days as well.
In September of last year, Stewart (whose longtime partner died in late 2017 after a battle with ALS) posted a popular poem about death which begins, “Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room.”
Rest in peace, Mr. Stewart. And thank you.
Check out Paul Stewart’s musical discography — which includes a pair of Red Math releases, a 12-inch EP with Junta and a CD with World Theatre, which also featured local musicians like Linford Detweiler and Bill Bullock — here, and listen to a few selections of his music below.
Here’s video posted by Facebook user Tom Frank (here) of Red Math’s final show ever, at Clifton mainstay Sudsy Malone’s (Chris Sherman of Sleep Theatre/SHAG had taken over the bass spot by this point).
A sampling of Paul Stewart’s bands in the 1980s:
UPDATE: A musical celebration of Stewart’s life — featuring artists who worked with and alongside him — is currently in the planning stage for later this year. Stay tuned.
This article appears in Feb 27 – Mar 6, 2019.
