O, the Legend
Guest contributor Dallas McLaughlin on the unstoppable force that was Otis “O” Barthoulameu
This weekend we celebrate the life of an actual Southern California legend, Otis “O” Barthoulameu. And, Legend is the correct title. Not just a Music Legend, or an Artistic Legend, or even a Skateboard Legend, even though he is all those things, but pure, free of descriptor—Legend. But, let’s be honest: that’s not really true when it comes to O. He does need a descriptor. I’d offer up a Confusing Legend, maybe Mythical Legend?
There could be those reading this that have no idea who I’m writing about. So, allow me to briefly explain what I know about O.
He was born. Somewhere.
In a year that starts with 19.
The first known proof that O existed outside of his family, which I am uncertain he had, or personal friends—of which he had countless—is a photo of a young (possibly) Otis standing at the front of the stage at an early Black Flag show.
After that, or possibly around that time or before it, he started taking photos. This, combined with punk music and the emerging Southern California skate scene, would ensure that O’s photog legacy would spread far and wide.
This is where things get fuzzy. Or muddy. Or even completely and totally made-up but probably true. O became an extremely sought after graphic designer in the purest sense, before apps, plug-ins, and programs. He started with his hands and paint. O became one of the first skateboard photographers for TransWorld Skateboard Magazine. O also started a groundbreaking band called Olivelawn.
Then in the early ‘90s, O upped his own game with his new band called fluf.
This is where the Legend really starts to take off and thankfully becomes slightly more documented. Fluf starts to play with Nirvana, Weezer, Dinosaur, Jr., and on and on. They were mainstays at the Casbah, SOMA, and any other music venue worth their salt.
Fluf was known for heavy guitars, pounding drums, and solos that would rival Van Halen (IMHO). They became a staple in the grunge/punk/pop rock circles.
And, fluf was my first interaction with O. In 1994 I saw fluf play at SOMA’s New Year’s Eve show. There were two stages, and band would play while the other would set up. While fluf was playing that night, the Vandals were setting up. About a quarter of the audience stayed to watch fluf, while the rest of the crowd slowly migrated to get a good spot for the Vandals. O then spent the majority of the set berating these fans for walking away. Calling them all the names he could think of. Shitting all over the Vandals (who were his friends) and playing the loudest fucking guitar I’ve ever heard.
I hated him.
Seven years later I found myself standing in a rehearsal room run by TJ from Buckfast. My best friend Sean O’Donnell had started a new band called Reeve Oliver, but at the time was still playing in my band Bad Credit. Sean had met TJ through O. How Sean met O, I still don’t know.
But no one ever really knew how they met O. He was just in your life all of a sudden.
I immediately remembered him from that New Years Eve show, and I told him I hated him. He laughed and said, “Why wouldn’t ya?”
That was my first experience with O-isms. It would not be my last. In fact, that night alone I’m pretty sure I got at least 12 “jackers” and four or five “ham smugglers”. These were things O would say and it didn’t have to be in relation to anything else. It rarely made sense, and it didn’t have to. He would just say them, and somehow we all understood.
The very next day I was eating lunch with Sean, O, and Jim Austin. We were at Souplantation, cause why wouldn’t ya.
And then the day after that—two mere days after my introduction to O—I learned that O had put together a show at the Honey Bee Hive with my band Bad Credit, Reeve Oliver and Anya Marina. Three groups that had nothing to do with each other musically, but loved hanging out together. Halloran was there. For some reason so was Troy Johnson, who then wrote the most backhanded compliment of a review for our show that has ever been penned. Still spiteful.
A week after that show, I walked into a Bad Credit rehearsal where O was playing guitar. Just for fun. But, also maybe permanently? Either way I’m fairly sure I didn’t have a choice.
Things for Bad Credit just seemed to take off. And, I spent nearly every day with O. He never ended up one of our guitar players, but he did become our de facto manager purely just by liking our band. And, us. And, we were absolutely enamored with him.
He became our music dad. He introduced us to everyone, and took us under his wing. He and Jim started up Redroom Recordings, which quickly released music from Anya, Reeve, Buckfast, and of course Bad Credit. Even fluf put out some new music under the banner.
O would drive us to a warehouse in Huntington, and we’d ask where we were going and he’d say, “Obey, jacker!” or “RVCA, boy toucher!” or “Paul Frank! Ham smuggler!!” We’d walk into these offices where absolutely everyone knew O. They’d hand us a box and tell us to walk through the warehouse and fill it.
Then we’d go to lunch with Paul Frank, or Tony Hawk, or the Bat Commander, or Mike Watt, or some other person I grew up idolizing. How did they all know O? How did I know O? He appeared.
I’ll never forget one night Reeve Oliver was playing the Birdhouse Christmas Party at Alex’s Bar in Huntington. O was now playing bass with Reeve and he invited myself and Matt Gorney to tag along, but we needed to pick up a few people first. Those people? The Vandals. I spent the whole night trying to act cool and desperately failing to the point where mid-story Dave Quackenbush told me he was gonna walk away. And did. It was brutal. But it was amazing and O just glided through it all like a conductor.
O knew everyone and everyone knew him.
At this point I could go on and on about how O is the reason I became a DJ on FM94/9, when he declined to go on the local show as a guest and told me to go in his place. Or the reason I became a writer for television, because he introduced Bad Credit to The Aquabats, which started a friendship that turned into working on Yo Gabba and The Aquabats Super Show and more. Or how he’s the reason Bad Credit even got off the ground floor.
In fact everything I have in my life at this point can be tracked back to O’s influence.
And, here’s the crazy thing: this isn’t my singular story. This is the same story that the majority of us who knew O have.
We met him. Somehow. Usually because he liked whatever creative thing we did. He then supported our creative thing just by being present in our lives and championing us. We then just had opportunities. What we did next was always up to us, but you can be damn sure O would be there either way. To either hang with us on tour, or sit with us in the back of the Casbah and tell us, “Well, you fucked up!” and then laugh at you in the most condescending and honest way I’ve ever experienced.
He was rarely wrong.
I could quite literally never stop talking about O, because there are endless things to talk about. Those who knew him felt like we were in a special club. Like, we got to be next to the Legend, cause no matter when it was that you met him, you knew he was one.
He taught us how to smuggle ham, how to take no shit, and most importantly how to barge. God damn could he barge, and hot damn do I still barge to this day. If you don’t know what that means, you’ll just have to be next to someone who does one day and reap the benefits.
O was joy, hate, love, spite, mystery, music, sound, light and dark. He was quite literally art brought to life.
Most of us never knew his real name, or where he lived, or how he got anywhere. But O was there. He was always there.
One of my biggest regrets in life was losing touch with O. I have no idea how it happened, but it happened the same way we met—suddenly. I’d see him every once in a while and every time it was always magical.
The last time I saw him was back in November, where else but at the Casbah. Sean and I had gone to see Meat Wave and just like old times we ran into Halloran, TJ, and John Reis, and we all hung out in the gear nook just talking shit.
I remember O immediately being my champion and telling me, “You lucked out, jackface. Hot wife! Cute kids! What else ya need?”
Crazy to think I wouldn’t have that wife, who only agreed to go out with me because she heard me on 94/9 and figured I couldn’t be too creepy, if it wasn’t for him.
What else ya need? More time with Otis.
I’d say rest in peace, but anyone who knew O knows he’s shredding the gnar telling God to take it easy, little buddy. Or telling the devil to smuggle ham. Knowing O, he’s probably somehow in both places at the same time.
Barge at will, ham toucher.
If you’d like to contribute to the cost of O’s memorial there is a live auction featuring one of a kind items from Tony Hawk, Miki Vukovich, Switchfoot, Ed Templeton, Thrasher and many more: https://otisforever.com/
Beautiful.
Awesome tribute