[A Perpetual Motion Machine ; Q Magazine Cover Story]
Greg Oldson's face is lit by the dull light of the computer screen, revealing all its flaws and imperfections. There are bags under his eyes, too many to count, the skin is weathered and worn, and a grey hair can be spotted peeking out of the blonde. Music is blaring out of the laptop's thin, reedy speakers, but it's obvious that he's unimpressed by the sound. He listens for several more seconds to the abstract, minimalist piano interlude, before shaking his head decisively and cutting off the noise with a click of the mouse. He sighs almost inaudibly, and rests his head in his hands. It's obvious, without even asking, that he's feeling a bit overwhelmed by the task at hand. He is, without question, the most unenviable man in the world.
And how could he not be? It's been five years since Wembley Stadium, a night that has haunted his every waking hour since. The details surrounding it still remain, to this day, unclear. All that's clear are the broad, important details; Infinite performed their last concert together, Eric Quillington waved goodbye to the crowd with a smile on his face and tears in his eyes, before backstage and overdosing on heroin. A career once filled with promise and wonder, magic and chaos, ended in the most brutal, heartbreaking form imaginable. It's taken an eternity, but one former drummer has finally found the courage to pick up the pieces, and carry on.
"Alright, let's try again," Greg Oldson says to the redheaded girl, and the (perhaps, we all hope, formally) suicidal bassist he's flanked by,
"I'm gonna bring out more of the vocal this time, if no one objects..."He doesn't wait for an answer. The voice, once spectral, now takes full center. And what a voice it is. For a time, it captivated the world. It's mighty and cracked, alien and familiar, all at once. Eric Quillington may be gone, but his resonance still remains, always and forever. And no one knew him better than Greg Oldson. Though he's spent the past five years running away from the memory of the iconic frontman, time has a funny way of catching up with us. In between takes of recording the music for Light in Motion, him and I have a little chat about the last few days of Infinite's singer, guitarist, lyricist, heart, and soul.
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What was Eric Quillington like, towards the end?
"I don't think you would have recognized him. Very, very thin, very frail, and always wearing these giant black sunglasses. He was hiding himself for the first time, I think, which shook me to the core. If you knew him, you'd know that he was always someone who held nothing back. If he had an idea, even if it was crap, he'd shout it from mountaintops. Eric was, as you'd expect, a motormouth the likes of which I'd never, ever seen before. So for him to shut himself off like that was... scary.
He couldn't really play guitar or piano like he used to, which bothered him to absolutely no end. He was still fantastic at what he did, it just didn't have that old... I dunno, edge. His hands were always shaking, and he hid them in his pockets as best as he could. And he never spoke about his disease; that was the elephant in the room. If we could get any words out of him, it'd be about the music. Nothing more, nothing less. He fell off the world, and away from everyone who loved him. In retrospect, I think we should have tried harder to bring him back."
Did he display any suicidal tendencies?
"No. At least, none that breached through my thick skull. He did mention several times about how Wembley was the 'end'. And like an idiot, I assumed that he was talking about his career. I believed that he would've gotten better once he left Infinite, and the stress it brought. Not physically, of course, but mentally, emotionally. And I still believe that. If he would've held on for just a little bit longer, he'd have... next question please."
What was the Wembley concert like, in Eric's last few hours?
"Unbelievably uplifting. We played at the top of our game, and Eric shone like an angel. That might sound sappy or melodramatic, but it was so true. Throughout his life, he'd always cast a cynical eye on his past. He was never content to just go onstage and rehash the old classics. When it came to performing, it was either the most recent album, or nothing. So to hear, and see, him put his whole heart into songs like 'Supernova' and 'Fusion Paranoia' was nothing short of breathtaking.
Playing like that, before everyone who mattered, our friends and lovers, was the greatest feeling in the world. And the final embrace, and bow, before the crowd felt like euphoria. Our lives had built up to this, and we succeeded beyond my wildest dreams. It felt like this huge burden had been lifted off my chest. Eric was leaving, but Infinite could continue without him. We'd be okay. That feeling lasted for about five minutes backstage. We walked off together, the four of us, like a family. Eric shook up a bottle of champagne, and sprayed it all over Amelia, laughing happily. And he was skipping, literally skipping, with joy. He stopped before a dressing room, saying that he wanted to get changed out of his sweaty clothes. He kissed each of us on the cheek in this jokey, French-esque manner, took one final bow, walked in the room, and closed the door."
And that was the final time you saw him?
"Yeah. It didn't feel like anything monumental at the time. We all just rolled our eyes, like 'oh, what are we going to do with that one!', and continued on our merry way. But something started to feel wrong. It happened slowly, like a migraine, this creeping sickness. I don't remember which of us it was, it might even have been me, who suggested that we go back and check on Eric. The whole thing was odd; this was party time, our moment to shine! Who gives a fuck about sweaty clothes, y'know? So we go back, and knock on the door. No answer. I don't think any of us were all that worried yet. Amelia was tugging on my arm, telling me that he'll catch up with us. I shook my head, and opened the door. What I saw broke my heart.
It's the little moments that stick out in my mind. There was music in the air; U2's 'Achtung Baby', Eric's favorite album. A note was tapped to the mirror, written in Eric's beautiful little scribbles. And lying on the floor, motionless, with a needle still in his arm, was my best friend. Someone screamed, and I thought at first that it was Amelia. But then I realized that my mouth was open, and noise was coming out. She did join in after a moment, when the initial shock wore off. Matt just stood there, looking like the wind had been knocked out of him.
Some morbid sense of ceremony took hold. Without thinking, I took the note, and read it aloud, my voice shaking and sobbing. Matt was crying at this point, too, which just nailed it home for me. Matt's the most stoic, controlled person I've ever known. He has never shed a tear in the decade I've known him. So to see him like that, on the verge of hysterics..."
Do you want to stop?
"I'm fine. The sense of ceremony was still there, telling me that others had to know. A proclamation had to be made. I motioned to the others to follow, and we walked back on stage. People were still cheering, still chanting our name to the high heavens. When they saw the three of us reappear, it was like all their dreams had come true. The cries of happiness died away pretty quickly, though. I don't remember how Amelia had gotten the note, but I'm glad she did. I didn't have the strength to read that note...
'These words will be mythologized more than anything I’ve ever written for a song. And that’s a shame, really, because I already poured all I have to give in the music. There’s nothing else that really needs to be said; this honestly feels like I’m writing out a grocery list. I’ll never see PANIC reunite with Ryan Ross Hernandez, I’ll never see Jason go through his fat Elvis period and play at Vegas, I’ll never see Glamazon continue to be the greatest human being on the planet, and I’ll never see Amelia Florentine soar as the new singer of Infinite. But you will. And I promise, each of these moments in your life will be just as poignant and worthwhile, with or without me'.
You never forget something like that. At least, I didn't. It spread throughout the world pretty quickly. At first, it seemed to unreal, too over-the-top. 'Singer overdoses mere minutes after farewell gig'. But that's Eric for you; even with suicide, he was the best showman on earth. I can't say that I know what each individual reaction to his death was. There have been many, many musical tributes following his death, so I'm sure a few people were affected. All I know is how I personally dealt with it; I retreated to the far reaches of the Earth, and drank myself into a stupor. I think, looking back, I wanted to follow him."
Let's stop talking about the past. What about the future? Will Infinite finish after Light in Motion?
"It finished with Eric's death. This is just the postscript, the afterwards at the end of a book. Eric Quillington didn't want to end his career with 'Dancing about Architecture'; it was a good album, but he didn't want that to be his swan song. He wanted this album to have that honor. And we respect his wishes. This is his band, even now."
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And with that, our interview was at in end. As expected, it was heartfelt and more than just a little depressing. But that's pretty much the only way to describe Greg Oldson these days. Once a bohemian, swaggering rock star who'd get in brawls with bandmates one minute and drunkenly crash his cars the next, both death and life have changed him in unexpected ways. He's a bearded recluse, a musician who maintains a respectable distance from the rest of the world, devoted entirely to his art. This devotion, this commitment, is exactly what Infinite's final album needs to see the light of day. Though envied by none, his greatest success may be mere moments away.
