When’s the last time anyone heard anything about EDDIE MUNSON? Old friends remember them as WITTY & ENGAGING but also OVERLY EMOTIVE & EASILY AGITATED, no wonder they’re still known as THE FREAK around town. Today, in 2006, they are 38 and some people say they remind them of the smell of cheap weed and even cheaper cologne; downsizing your passions to fit into an adapted version of your dreams; bite marks on pencils and an abundance of notebooks filled with lyrics that you didn’t have it within yourself to finish; a hopeless inability to adapt.
THE ROAD TILL NOW.
tw: death mention / injuries / hospital
I: GROUND ZERO / THE IMMEDIATE AFTERMATH.
Spring break 1986 concluded with a bang. quite literally. Or at least, to Eddie Munson personally, something akin to, well, the biggest bang ever imaginable. A cataclysmic event - his own death. How he had managed to narrowly avoid that fate, Eddie still doesn’t know. What he does know is that somehow, by the grace of whatever gods might loom and linger out there, he’d been granted another shot at breathing.
As fun as breathing and not-being-dead was, it quickly turned out that Hawkins, Indiana wasn’t the best place for the recently traumatized to recover. Someone - Steve, he suspected - must’ve dragged him out of the literal hell beneath Hawkins, because when he came to he’d found himself blinded by fluorescent overhead lighting, hooked up to all sorts of machines and, not to forget, chained to the fucking hospital bed.
Despite the less than ideal circumstances of his recovery, Eddie found some solace in the fact that Hopper, although trying to manage and cope with his own losses, did his best to shield him from the press. The reporters outside the hospital were eventually persuaded to leave, thanks to Hopper’s efforts (well-timed threats). Some shady government officials also paid a visit, and after the public’s demand for answers had dwindled, they’d released a statement, clearing Eddie’s name. Apparently, they’d felt guilty enough to throw in a new trailer for him and Wayne, too, so they could have at least some sort of safe haven to retreat to.
Still weak, but with sufficiently healed wounds, Eddie Munson was discharged and suddenly a free man. But make no mistake - free on paper only. Because when he left the hospital, he was suddenly brutally confronted with the fact that, to the average Hawkins resident, he was still 1) the local drug dealing town freak, 2) the leader of a satan worshipping cult and 3) a fucking murderer. In that order. And so the dirty looks continued to burn into his back, the muttered insults followed him in passing, and nothing, I repeat, nothing had changed. Maybe it was all the pent up rage, maybe something just .. .snapped but either way, Eddie powered through and managed to finally graduate on his third try of senior year. He did as promised: walked the stage, flipped off principal Higgins. Only the running like hell part, that would have to wait until everything had properly healed.
The months went by in a blur. When El and Will’s double funeral rolled around, when his gaze followed as the caskets were lowered to the ground, it was .. for lack of better words a pivotal moment . There was nothing left for him here, was there? His uncle would manage fine on his own, especially since he’d been going on regular coffee dates with that sweet librarian. Eddie was more of a nuisance to him, he was sure. And whatever that weird tension between him and Steve had been, left unresolved post-Vecna and awkwardly fizzling out ever since, it’s just … not enough to keep him in Hawkins. So it’s really an easy decision. A week later Eddie’s van, packed with all the Corroded Coffin equipment, leaves Hawkins, without leaving a note, without saying goodbye, and takes the highway to Chicago.
II: CHICAGO, ROBIN AND THE STONY ROAD TO STARDOM.
Eddie Munson was fully aware that he wasn’t going to become a success story overnight, but he was determined to make it happen. Still haunted by his past traumas, he channeled his energy into his writing, playing guitar, and even experimenting with singing. Taking up odd jobs here and there, dabbling in some dealing if need be, to pay rent and put food on the table. The paying rent part got much easer, however, when a familiar face joined him in Chicago: One Robin Buckley.
Robin brought a sort of light and warmth, a breezy carelessnes, a lust for life previously unimaginable, back into his life. His twenties with Robin in Chicago were the best, it seemed the early nineties were made for them. Going out to bars and clubs where Eddie didn’t need to put a bandana in his back pocket for people to know he was interested in men, playing the odd gig here and there, with moderate success in the local scene. Countless hours spent listening to music as they smoked and chatted away into the night. Life was fucking good, man!
Until, for whatever reason, one foggy morning, reality harshly set in. Maybe his frontal lobe had finally finished developing, but Eddie had untangled himself from the arms of last night’s conquest to get up and reevaluate every choice he’d made in his life so far. How he was working two jobs, as a mechanic and at some gay club’s coatcheck, while claiming he was doing music ‘full time’ and that ‘they were gonna make it big, the world just needed to be ready for them!’ The year was 1996. Eddie was pushing thirty. Corroded Coffin was still playing venues akin to the Hideout. If anything, the world had been ready for metal, like, eight years ago. If anything, the world was getting tired of their sound, and everything was moving into the direction of grunge-y tones. And, if anything, Eddie Munson was getting fucking tired of getting his hard work discarded because ’metal’s just not the vibe anymore, man’. Eddie had promised himself to stay true to his dreams, his passions, the plans he’d made for himself. But so many promises made to him had been carelessly broken. It seemed only fitting that he would break his own, too. So, Eddie got up and proposed a new sound. Most of Corroded Coffin dipped immediately, as to be expected, and so he got to work finding a new band. With him as lead guitar and, for the first time, supporting vocals, he joined a newly formed grunge/alternative rock band called ’Bleach & Burn’, performing music inspired by Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Type O Negative and the like. Not his usual scene, but he could get down to their harder sounds.
Bleach & Burn, to his surprise, generated moderate success and a cult-like following. Suddenly, Eddie found he was able to quit his coatcheck job, able to support himself with just the mechanics and his music. But it was only a matter of time before the world would evolve, move on, repeat the trend cycle and suddenly, just as they were about to sign their first recording contract, the label pulled out last minute with a word of advice: “People are sick of hard rock. Do something a little more … for the everyday crowd. Something for the radio. Trust me, people are gonna go wild if you go a little more tame.”
This marked a turning point, the make or break - Eddie Munson was a lot of things but he’d been determined not to be a sell-out, not to sacrifice his integrity for feeble attempts at fame and success. But now? Seeing his dream slip by his grasp, when he’d been so close? What the fuck was he supposed to do? And so, after much tossing and turning, Eddie Munson, lead guitarist and supporting vocalist of Bleach & Burn, became lead guitarist and lead vocalist of Cornerstone. And so, in the year 2000, at the ripe age of 32, Eddie Munson became Chicago’s biggest sell-out. But, fucking hell, did it pay off!
III. EDDIE MUNSON’s CLAIM TO FAME.
Who knew sacrificing your sound and your dreams could be so lucrative! Their debut album, after reworking their harder sound into a more radio appropriate, alt-indie-rock beat and getting a second lead-vocalist in the talented Alice Phair, hit the shelves not four months after, somehow becoming an instant success. Chicago’s previously best kept secret spread through the nation like wildfire. Cornerstone played their first national tour in 2001, cruising through the country for a solid five months. And suddenly, Eddie was on stage every night in tight jeans and leather jackets while people screamed his lyrics back at him, feeling like a fucking rockstar. Scratch that, feeling a like a fucking god.
Suddenly, he had everything he thought he’d ever wanted and craved. The recognition he’d been waiting his entire life for. Life felt good, once again. - Or was it, really? He’d never aspired for international success, even surprised when his label had told him some little independent radio station in Finland had played their most recent single. But people, no matter how few, were hearing their music, all over the world. People, no matter how few, all over the world were listening to and enjoying the sound of Eddie’s sacrificed musical integrity.
Again, suddenly, a flip seemed to switch, and Eddie pushed two sleeping groupies off him as he waddled to the front of the tour bus to watch the sunrise. He was living his fucking dream. People adored him. Eddie ’the freak’ Munson had turned into Eddie ’can you sign my tits?’ Munson, posters of his face adorning the walls of America’s alternative youth. But if he had everything he’d ever wanted then why was he so fucking miserable? Why did he cringe whenever he heard a song of theirs on the radio, even going as far as skipping the channel, unable to stand hearing it? He loved, lived and breathed music, but whatever sound they had taken on, he hated it. Hated having to pretend something he was not - he did that oftentimes enough when he’d pose with Alice for a staged PDA picture that could be printed in the tabloids. It wasn’t like he was hiding his sexuality by any means - his label had simply … ’kindly advised’ him to maintain an air of mystery around that subject of his personal life.
Truth was, Eddie yearned to go back to his roots, that early 80s melodic metal sound, that had made him happier than every song on his last, what, three albums? He’d even gone to work writing some songs that fit that genre - but they’d never see the light of day. Only posthumously, if anything. Because he knew the second he’d pitch that idea to his bandmates, or god forbid the label, Cornerstone was good as done. How were they ever going to play another authentic show with the knowledge that their band’s lead fucking hated every minute of it? It was ridiculous. And anyway, Eddie shouldn’t complain about what had been handed to him. He’d never even thought he’d make it this far. So really, he was in no place to complain. He should be fucking grateful.
He tries his best to be. Grateful. Goes on tour after tour, even if he’d rather stay home and never leave his room again, even if he’s fucking exhausted. Dutifully just nods and smiles whenever the label suggests another single, another show, another interview - it’s not even like they’re properly ‘famous’ Eddie thinks, but he doesn’t say anything, never does. Even when some so called ‘music journalist’ has recently in a review called them ‘a delightful mix of Nirvana, The Fratellis, Franz Ferdinand and recently emerged newcomers The Arcitc Monkeys’. He’s been told that it’s a smashing review. Eddie feels a lot like smashing that journalist’s face in.
Eddie’s just finished up a tour, and the past few months have catapulted him to the very brink of .. .something. A cord, maybe, that’s coiled all the way up, ready to snap at the next minor inconvenience. The idea of leaving the band is ever present at the back of his head. Leave Cornerstone to Alice, knowing she’d do an amazing job. Better than him, even, he’s sure. They’re not schedulded to play another show for a couple months, and so when Robin stumbles into his arms, showing him the envelope, it’s really a no-brainer. They’re going. Back to Hawkins.
Eddie hasn’t been back since ‘86. Wayne had always insisted to come to Chicago or visit him in Indianapolis whenever he’d play a show there. Eddie hasn’t been back since ‘86 and he hasn’t seen anyone from … back then since ‘86. Hasn’t been keeping in contact much, either. Still, Joyce Byers had been one of the sweetest souls to ever walk this earth, had shown him nothing but kindness the brief times he’d run into her. And some time in Hawkins, away from the bustling city life, away from the music and the shows and the whole fucking business - who knew, maybe a change of scenery would do him good. Eddie’s willing to try about anything to get a brief respite from the life he’s built for himself.
EDDIE’S PINTEREST: https://www.pinterest.co.uk/edsmunson/eddie-munson-2electric-boogaloo







