The suicides last year of Chris Cornell and Chester Bennington touched millions around the world. But as someone struggling with his own depressive anxiety, soon to be 18-year-old Ian Ridenhour couldn't help viewing their paths as a potential harbinger for his own.

"Especially when I was first struggling with this, there's a little bit of tortured artist mentality, that I'm a creative mastermind now that I have pain in my heart,” Ridenhour said with a chuckle. “After struggling with it for so long, it's not the glamorous thing it used to be in my head, because it's ultimately not glamorous. It's terrifying and it's very hard to deal with.”

Ian Ridenhour

Credit courtesy of the artist

Unlike many artists, Ridenhour talks freely about his depression, and the album he released a few months ago, called “Ribcage,” is filled with songs born from his suffering. Ridenhour kicks off the ninth season of Concerts on the Creek on May 25, at the Bridge Park Pavilion in Sylva.

“Much of my personal psychoanalysis and self-therapy is through songwriting, through music,” he said. “It's an incredibly vulnerable point to put yourself in, and with ‘Ribcage, it just reached a point where I felt comfortable sharing this music and telling the story more bluntly.”

Ridenhour grew up in Bismarck, N.D., and started playing the drums when he was 3 and writing songs before he turned 8. His teachers skipped him ahead two grades before he began homeschooling. He studied music theory as a 12-year-old and graduated high school at 15, the year his family moved to Black Mountain. Two years ago, he won $50,000 on the Whiz Kids version of “Who Wants to be a Millionaire?”

Though Ridenhour writes and performs largely seated at the piano, he said he plays 11 instruments well enough to write all the parts for the music he composes.

“I don't subscribe to the concept of a prodigy,” he said. “I think people learn in different rates and different ways, and I don't need to hear things multiple times before memorizing them.

Ridenhour grew up listening to everything from choral music to Adele to metal, a span reflected in the album he made when he was just 14. Once he began grappling with his depression, his lyrics grew darker and more focused, yet his music retained a pop, upbeat sensibility.

“I think we really like engaging with sad stuff, and we also don't want to engage with sad stuff when we're not in a sad headspace,” he said. “So if you sort of trick someone into listening to it and digging a little deeper, it can create an interesting reaction and response.

“I was really pushing myself to be more open with the stuff I was struggling with,” he added. “I want the music I'm making to inspire other people who struggle with this to engage with what they're feeling.”

Some might see a young Elton John or Billy Joel in Ridenhour, and he doesn't shy from that.

“I don't think I need to necessarily be at that level to fulfill with what I want to do,” he said. “But with the music I'm making and image I want to create for myself, I absolutely want to follow their path.”

In the meantime, Ridenhour said he's working to grow as a songwriter, beyond the bounds of his depression. He's also trying to get healthier.

“Chris Cornell and Chester Bennington were two of the most influential rock musicians out there. They made incredible music and they were incredibly talented, and I think a lot of that inspiration came with what they were struggling with. But they died for it,” he said. “Just with what I've tried doing in my own life and move forward to a more healthy state of mind, I would want to, if not give up, then deal with it in a way I don't have to engage with (the depression) all the time.”

The suicides last year of Chris Cornell and Chester Bennington touched millions around the world. But as someone struggling with his own depressive anxiety, soon to be 18-year-old Ian Ridenhour couldn't help viewing their paths as a potential harbinger for his own.

"Especially when I was first struggling with this, there's a little bit of tortured artist mentality, that I'm a creative mastermind now that I have pain in my heart,” Ridenhour said with a chuckle. “After struggling with it for so long, it's not the glamorous thing it used to be in my head, because it's ultimately not glamorous. It's terrifying and it's very hard to deal with.”

Ian Ridenhour

Credit courtesy of the artist

Unlike many artists, Ridenhour talks freely about his depression, and the album he released a few months ago, called “Ribcage,” is filled with songs born from his suffering. Ridenhour kicks off the ninth season of Concerts on the Creek on May 25, at the Bridge Park Pavilion in Sylva.

“Much of my personal psychoanalysis and self-therapy is through songwriting, through music,” he said. “It's an incredibly vulnerable point to put yourself in, and with ‘Ribcage, it just reached a point where I felt comfortable sharing this music and telling the story more bluntly.”

Ridenhour grew up in Bismarck, N.D., and started playing the drums when he was 3 and writing songs before he turned 8. His teachers skipped him ahead two grades before he began homeschooling. He studied music theory as a 12-year-old and graduated high school at 15, the year his family moved to Black Mountain. Two years ago, he won $50,000 on the Whiz Kids version of “Who Wants to be a Millionaire?”

Though Ridenhour writes and performs largely seated at the piano, he said he plays 11 instruments well enough to write all the parts for the music he composes.

“I don't subscribe to the concept of a prodigy,” he said. “I think people learn in different rates and different ways, and I don't need to hear things multiple times before memorizing them.

Ridenhour grew up listening to everything from choral music to Adele to metal, a span reflected in the album he made when he was just 14. Once he began grappling with his depression, his lyrics grew darker and more focused, yet his music retained a pop, upbeat sensibility.

“I think we really like engaging with sad stuff, and we also don't want to engage with sad stuff when we're not in a sad headspace,” he said. “So if you sort of trick someone into listening to it and digging a little deeper, it can create an interesting reaction and response.

“I was really pushing myself to be more open with the stuff I was struggling with,” he added. “I want the music I'm making to inspire other people who struggle with this to engage with what they're feeling.”

Some might see a young Elton John or Billy Joel in Ridenhour, and he doesn't shy from that.

“I don't think I need to necessarily be at that level to fulfill with what I want to do,” he said. “But with the music I'm making and image I want to create for myself, I absolutely want to follow their path.”

In the meantime, Ridenhour said he's working to grow as a songwriter, beyond the bounds of his depression. He's also trying to get healthier.

“Chris Cornell and Chester Bennington were two of the most influential rock musicians out there. They made incredible music and they were incredibly talented, and I think a lot of that inspiration came with what they were struggling with. But they died for it,” he said. “Just with what I've tried doing in my own life and move forward to a more healthy state of mind, I would want to, if not give up, then deal with it in a way I don't have to engage with (the depression) all the time.”

The suicides last year of Chris Cornell and Chester Bennington touched millions around the world. But as someone struggling with his own depressive anxiety, soon to be 18-year-old Ian Ridenhour couldn't help viewing their paths as a potential harbinger for his own.

"Especially when I was first struggling with this, there's a little bit of tortured artist mentality, that I'm a creative mastermind now that I have pain in my heart,” Ridenhour said with a chuckle. “After struggling with it for so long, it's not the glamorous thing it used to be in my head, because it's ultimately not glamorous. It's terrifying and it's very hard to deal with.”

Ian Ridenhour

Credit courtesy of the artist

Unlike many artists, Ridenhour talks freely about his depression, and the album he released a few months ago, called “Ribcage,” is filled with songs born from his suffering. Ridenhour kicks off the ninth season of Concerts on the Creek on May 25, at the Bridge Park Pavilion in Sylva.

“Much of my personal psychoanalysis and self-therapy is through songwriting, through music,” he said. “It's an incredibly vulnerable point to put yourself in, and with ‘Ribcage, it just reached a point where I felt comfortable sharing this music and telling the story more bluntly.”

Ridenhour grew up in Bismarck, N.D., and started playing the drums when he was 3 and writing songs before he turned 8. His teachers skipped him ahead two grades before he began homeschooling. He studied music theory as a 12-year-old and graduated high school at 15, the year his family moved to Black Mountain. Two years ago, he won $50,000 on the Whiz Kids version of “Who Wants to be a Millionaire?”

Though Ridenhour writes and performs largely seated at the piano, he said he plays 11 instruments well enough to write all the parts for the music he composes.

“I don't subscribe to the concept of a prodigy,” he said. “I think people learn in different rates and different ways, and I don't need to hear things multiple times before memorizing them.

Ridenhour grew up listening to everything from choral music to Adele to metal, a span reflected in the album he made when he was just 14. Once he began grappling with his depression, his lyrics grew darker and more focused, yet his music retained a pop, upbeat sensibility.

“I think we really like engaging with sad stuff, and we also don't want to engage with sad stuff when we're not in a sad headspace,” he said. “So if you sort of trick someone into listening to it and digging a little deeper, it can create an interesting reaction and response.

“I was really pushing myself to be more open with the stuff I was struggling with,” he added. “I want the music I'm making to inspire other people who struggle with this to engage with what they're feeling.”

Some might see a young Elton John or Billy Joel in Ridenhour, and he doesn't shy from that.

“I don't think I need to necessarily be at that level to fulfill with what I want to do,” he said. “But with the music I'm making and image I want to create for myself, I absolutely want to follow their path.”

In the meantime, Ridenhour said he's working to grow as a songwriter, beyond the bounds of his depression. He's also trying to get healthier.

“Chris Cornell and Chester Bennington were two of the most influential rock musicians out there. They made incredible music and they were incredibly talented, and I think a lot of that inspiration came with what they were struggling with. But they died for it,” he said. “Just with what I've tried doing in my own life and move forward to a more healthy state of mind, I would want to, if not give up, then deal with it in a way I don't have to engage with (the depression) all the time.”

Like the swallows that return every year to San Juan Capistrano, David Wilcox's most devoted followers — it's an insult to refer to them as mere fans — return every spring to Kanuga Lake, outside Hendersonville.

Wilcox Weekend, as it's known, is an annual ritual drawing a couple dozen people from around the country, along with some of their children and several of their dogs. The eighth Wilcox Weekend was May 4-6.

David Wilcox (left) and Al Petteway perform for attendees of the eighth Wilcox Weekend.

Credit Matt Peiken | BPR News

People come to hear Wilcox and his friends perform, swap stories about what their favorite Wilcox songs mean to them and share their own music with one of Asheville's most venerated folk music artists. Everyone also received an early copy of Wilcox's new studio album, his 16th, called “The View From the Edge.”

“Last year, we were joking amongst ourselves, going ‘Are we a bunch of weirdos?'” said Colleen Laliberte, of Chattanooga, who has attended all eight Wilcox Weekends. “So the back of our t-shirt last year said ‘#TotallyNotACult.' We're not the David Wilcox cult.”

Everyone here will tell you the Wilcox Weekend is more than about David Wilcox.

“The connection people feel with David's music is also the connection they feel with each other,” said Dave Atherton, who drove to Hendersonville from his home in Northern Virginia. “Even if David were to take a year off, I don't think we would. I think we would gather just for this community.”

While this is the eighth official Wilcox Weekend, the first was unofficial. Several members of an online forum of Wilcox fans convened in 2001 at a member's home in Highland Park, Ill.

“They kind of thought ‘Well, we should maybe tell Dave we're doing this. Maybe he'll come,' and I did come and it was a lovely time,” Wilcox said. “I had that wonderful feeling this this community had a life of its own and they were going to do this whether I was there or not.”

Wilcox's staff helped organize the first formal Weekend a few years later, but Wilcox himself is an introvert, and he was wary about the depth of his own involvement. To this day, he talks about the festival as if he's a curious observer, and he talks about the people as a tribe, and his music as a connector.

“It's not like a fan thing. It's not like they want to be around this personality,” Wilcox said. “They're wanting more contact with their own heart's guidance. The way I talk about music is empowering for them. The way I look at music is a way of knowing our hearts, so we can understand what our hearts are tugging at us about. That is very reassuring to me. It makes it very relaxed and easy for me to be with these people.”

Wilcox might be in just a bit of denial about the motives some people have for coming here.

One attendee caught Wilcox alone in the line for Saturday breakfast.

“I've been still listening to ‘Underneath' over and over,” he said. Wilcox worked to paste a smile on his face, his gaze off to the side as he nodded through his discomfort.

“Yeah, I was totally starstruck, and now we're just very old friends,” said Janet Griffin, of Baltimore. She discovered Wilcox's music 20 years ago, when she bought five of his albums and spun them as a soundtrack to paint her house, and has since attended all eight Wilcox Weekends.

“Wilcox Weekend changed my life on so many levels. Not to be dramatic, but it did,” she said. “I've learned to bring my heart everywhere.”

Jennifer Knight has been to every Wilcox Weekend since the second and is now one of the so-called volunteer minions handling all the logistics.

Like the swallows that return every year to San Juan Capistrano, David Wilcox's most devoted followers — it's an insult to refer to them as mere fans — return every spring to Kanuga Lake, outside Hendersonville.

Wilcox Weekend, as it's known, is an annual ritual drawing a couple dozen people from around the country, along with some of their children and several of their dogs. The eighth Wilcox Weekend was May 4-6.

David Wilcox (left) and Al Petteway perform for attendees of the eighth Wilcox Weekend.

Credit Matt Peiken | BPR News

People come to hear Wilcox and his friends perform, swap stories about what their favorite Wilcox songs mean to them and share their own music with one of Asheville's most venerated folk music artists. Everyone also received an early copy of Wilcox's new studio album, his 16th, called “The View From the Edge.”

“Last year, we were joking amongst ourselves, going ‘Are we a bunch of weirdos?'” said Colleen Laliberte, of Chattanooga, who has attended all eight Wilcox Weekends. “So the back of our t-shirt last year said ‘#TotallyNotACult.' We're not the David Wilcox cult.”

Everyone here will tell you the Wilcox Weekend is more than about David Wilcox.

“The connection people feel with David's music is also the connection they feel with each other,” said Dave Atherton, who drove to Hendersonville from his home in Northern Virginia. “Even if David were to take a year off, I don't think we would. I think we would gather just for this community.”

While this is the eighth official Wilcox Weekend, the first was unofficial. Several members of an online forum of Wilcox fans convened in 2001 at a member's home in Highland Park, Ill.

“They kind of thought ‘Well, we should maybe tell Dave we're doing this. Maybe he'll come,' and I did come and it was a lovely time,” Wilcox said. “I had that wonderful feeling this this community had a life of its own and they were going to do this whether I was there or not.”

Wilcox's staff helped organize the first formal Weekend a few years later, but Wilcox himself is an introvert, and he was wary about the depth of his own involvement. To this day, he talks about the festival as if he's a curious observer, and he talks about the people as a tribe, and his music as a connector.

“It's not like a fan thing. It's not like they want to be around this personality,” Wilcox said. “They're wanting more contact with their own heart's guidance. The way I talk about music is empowering for them. The way I look at music is a way of knowing our hearts, so we can understand what our hearts are tugging at us about. That is very reassuring to me. It makes it very relaxed and easy for me to be with these people.”

Wilcox might be in just a bit of denial about the motives some people have for coming here.

One attendee caught Wilcox alone in the line for Saturday breakfast.

“I've been still listening to ‘Underneath' over and over,” he said. Wilcox worked to paste a smile on his face, his gaze off to the side as he nodded through his discomfort.

“Yeah, I was totally starstruck, and now we're just very old friends,” said Janet Griffin, of Baltimore. She discovered Wilcox's music 20 years ago, when she bought five of his albums and spun them as a soundtrack to paint her house, and has since attended all eight Wilcox Weekends.

“Wilcox Weekend changed my life on so many levels. Not to be dramatic, but it did,” she said. “I've learned to bring my heart everywhere.”

Jennifer Knight has been to every Wilcox Weekend since the second and is now one of the so-called volunteer minions handling all the logistics.

Like the swallows that return every year to San Juan Capistrano, David Wilcox's most devoted followers — it's an insult to refer to them as mere fans — return every spring to Kanuga Lake, outside Hendersonville.

Wilcox Weekend, as it's known, is an annual ritual drawing a couple dozen people from around the country, along with some of their children and several of their dogs. The eighth Wilcox Weekend was May 4-6.

David Wilcox (left) and Al Petteway perform for attendees of the eighth Wilcox Weekend.

Credit Matt Peiken | BPR News

People come to hear Wilcox and his friends perform, swap stories about what their favorite Wilcox songs mean to them and share their own music with one of Asheville's most venerated folk music artists. Everyone also received an early copy of Wilcox's new studio album, his 16th, called “The View From the Edge.”

“Last year, we were joking amongst ourselves, going ‘Are we a bunch of weirdos?'” said Colleen Laliberte, of Chattanooga, who has attended all eight Wilcox Weekends. “So the back of our t-shirt last year said ‘#TotallyNotACult.' We're not the David Wilcox cult.”

Everyone here will tell you the Wilcox Weekend is more than about David Wilcox.

“The connection people feel with David's music is also the connection they feel with each other,” said Dave Atherton, who drove to Hendersonville from his home in Northern Virginia. “Even if David were to take a year off, I don't think we would. I think we would gather just for this community.”

While this is the eighth official Wilcox Weekend, the first was unofficial. Several members of an online forum of Wilcox fans convened in 2001 at a member's home in Highland Park, Ill.

“They kind of thought ‘Well, we should maybe tell Dave we're doing this. Maybe he'll come,' and I did come and it was a lovely time,” Wilcox said. “I had that wonderful feeling this this community had a life of its own and they were going to do this whether I was there or not.”

Wilcox's staff helped organize the first formal Weekend a few years later, but Wilcox himself is an introvert, and he was wary about the depth of his own involvement. To this day, he talks about the festival as if he's a curious observer, and he talks about the people as a tribe, and his music as a connector.

“It's not like a fan thing. It's not like they want to be around this personality,” Wilcox said. “They're wanting more contact with their own heart's guidance. The way I talk about music is empowering for them. The way I look at music is a way of knowing our hearts, so we can understand what our hearts are tugging at us about. That is very reassuring to me. It makes it very relaxed and easy for me to be with these people.”

Wilcox might be in just a bit of denial about the motives some people have for coming here.

One attendee caught Wilcox alone in the line for Saturday breakfast.

“I've been still listening to ‘Underneath' over and over,” he said. Wilcox worked to paste a smile on his face, his gaze off to the side as he nodded through his discomfort.

“Yeah, I was totally starstruck, and now we're just very old friends,” said Janet Griffin, of Baltimore. She discovered Wilcox's music 20 years ago, when she bought five of his albums and spun them as a soundtrack to paint her house, and has since attended all eight Wilcox Weekends.

“Wilcox Weekend changed my life on so many levels. Not to be dramatic, but it did,” she said. “I've learned to bring my heart everywhere.”

Jennifer Knight has been to every Wilcox Weekend since the second and is now one of the so-called volunteer minions handling all the logistics.

Like the swallows that return every year to San Juan Capistrano, David Wilcox's most devoted followers — it's an insult to refer to them as mere fans — return every spring to Kanuga Lake, outside Hendersonville.

Wilcox Weekend, as it's known, is an annual ritual drawing a couple dozen people from around the country, along with some of their children and several of their dogs. The eighth Wilcox Weekend was May 4-6.

David Wilcox (left) and Al Petteway perform for attendees of the eighth Wilcox Weekend.

Credit Matt Peiken | BPR News

People come to hear Wilcox and his friends perform, swap stories about what their favorite Wilcox songs mean to them and share their own music with one of Asheville's most venerated folk music artists. Everyone also received an early copy of Wilcox's new studio album, his 16th, called “The View From the Edge.”

“Last year, we were joking amongst ourselves, going ‘Are we a bunch of weirdos?'” said Colleen Laliberte, of Chattanooga, who has attended all eight Wilcox Weekends. “So the back of our t-shirt last year said ‘#TotallyNotACult.' We're not the David Wilcox cult.”

Everyone here will tell you the Wilcox Weekend is more than about David Wilcox.

“The connection people feel with David's music is also the connection they feel with each other,” said Dave Atherton, who drove to Hendersonville from his home in Northern Virginia. “Even if David were to take a year off, I don't think we would. I think we would gather just for this community.”

While this is the eighth official Wilcox Weekend, the first was unofficial. Several members of an online forum of Wilcox fans convened in 2001 at a member's home in Highland Park, Ill.

“They kind of thought ‘Well, we should maybe tell Dave we're doing this. Maybe he'll come,' and I did come and it was a lovely time,” Wilcox said. “I had that wonderful feeling this this community had a life of its own and they were going to do this whether I was there or not.”

Wilcox's staff helped organize the first formal Weekend a few years later, but Wilcox himself is an introvert, and he was wary about the depth of his own involvement. To this day, he talks about the festival as if he's a curious observer, and he talks about the people as a tribe, and his music as a connector.

“It's not like a fan thing. It's not like they want to be around this personality,” Wilcox said. “They're wanting more contact with their own heart's guidance. The way I talk about music is empowering for them. The way I look at music is a way of knowing our hearts, so we can understand what our hearts are tugging at us about. That is very reassuring to me. It makes it very relaxed and easy for me to be with these people.”

Wilcox might be in just a bit of denial about the motives some people have for coming here.

One attendee caught Wilcox alone in the line for Saturday breakfast.

“I've been still listening to ‘Underneath' over and over,” he said. Wilcox worked to paste a smile on his face, his gaze off to the side as he nodded through his discomfort.

“Yeah, I was totally starstruck, and now we're just very old friends,” said Janet Griffin, of Baltimore. She discovered Wilcox's music 20 years ago, when she bought five of his albums and spun them as a soundtrack to paint her house, and has since attended all eight Wilcox Weekends.

“Wilcox Weekend changed my life on so many levels. Not to be dramatic, but it did,” she said. “I've learned to bring my heart everywhere.”

Jennifer Knight has been to every Wilcox Weekend since the second and is now one of the so-called volunteer minions handling all the logistics.

Like the swallows that return every year to San Juan Capistrano, David Wilcox's most devoted followers — it's an insult to refer to them as mere fans — return every spring to Kanuga Lake, outside Hendersonville.

Wilcox Weekend, as it's known, is an annual ritual drawing a couple dozen people from around the country, along with some of their children and several of their dogs. The eighth Wilcox Weekend was May 4-6.

David Wilcox (left) and Al Petteway perform for attendees of the eighth Wilcox Weekend.

Credit Matt Peiken | BPR News

People come to hear Wilcox and his friends perform, swap stories about what their favorite Wilcox songs mean to them and share their own music with one of Asheville's most venerated folk music artists. Everyone also received an early copy of Wilcox's new studio album, his 16th, called “The View From the Edge.”

“Last year, we were joking amongst ourselves, going ‘Are we a bunch of weirdos?'” said Colleen Laliberte, of Chattanooga, who has attended all eight Wilcox Weekends. “So the back of our t-shirt last year said ‘#TotallyNotACult.' We're not the David Wilcox cult.”

Everyone here will tell you the Wilcox Weekend is more than about David Wilcox.

“The connection people feel with David's music is also the connection they feel with each other,” said Dave Atherton, who drove to Hendersonville from his home in Northern Virginia. “Even if David were to take a year off, I don't think we would. I think we would gather just for this community.”

While this is the eighth official Wilcox Weekend, the first was unofficial. Several members of an online forum of Wilcox fans convened in 2001 at a member's home in Highland Park, Ill.

“They kind of thought ‘Well, we should maybe tell Dave we're doing this. Maybe he'll come,' and I did come and it was a lovely time,” Wilcox said. “I had that wonderful feeling this this community had a life of its own and they were going to do this whether I was there or not.”

Wilcox's staff helped organize the first formal Weekend a few years later, but Wilcox himself is an introvert, and he was wary about the depth of his own involvement. To this day, he talks about the festival as if he's a curious observer, and he talks about the people as a tribe, and his music as a connector.

“It's not like a fan thing. It's not like they want to be around this personality,” Wilcox said. “They're wanting more contact with their own heart's guidance. The way I talk about music is empowering for them. The way I look at music is a way of knowing our hearts, so we can understand what our hearts are tugging at us about. That is very reassuring to me. It makes it very relaxed and easy for me to be with these people.”

Wilcox might be in just a bit of denial about the motives some people have for coming here.

One attendee caught Wilcox alone in the line for Saturday breakfast.

“I've been still listening to ‘Underneath' over and over,” he said. Wilcox worked to paste a smile on his face, his gaze off to the side as he nodded through his discomfort.

“Yeah, I was totally starstruck, and now we're just very old friends,” said Janet Griffin, of Baltimore. She discovered Wilcox's music 20 years ago, when she bought five of his albums and spun them as a soundtrack to paint her house, and has since attended all eight Wilcox Weekends.

“Wilcox Weekend changed my life on so many levels. Not to be dramatic, but it did,” she said. “I've learned to bring my heart everywhere.”

Jennifer Knight has been to every Wilcox Weekend since the second and is now one of the so-called volunteer minions handling all the logistics.

Gavin Geoffrey Dillard has a story to tell.

“I ended up being in a relationship with David Geffen,” he said.

And another.

“I wrote comedy for Joan Rivers, Dolly Parton, Lily Tomlin, Vincent Price, Peggy Lee.”

Gavin Geoffrey Dillard

Credit Matt Peiken | BPR News

And another.

“I was the No.1 gay porn star in the world for two years.”

And another.

“I've seen flying saucers up very close,” he said. “I've been taken to a place where there's a wormhole and seen many ships go back and forth.”

And another.

“In L.A. I became famous as the naked poet, because I did poetry readings all over town in the buff, and the L.A. Times gave me the moniker of the Naked Poet and it stuck.”

If you've ever heard Sam Harris sing “The Rescue” on the radio, you've heard a little change drop into Dillard's pocket, because he wrote the lyrics. Ever hear of the stage show “Bark! The Musical?” Dillard wrote most of those lyrics too.

You can Google some of this for yourself, along with other remembrances Dillard will recount with matter-of-fact pride. Other claims are destined to remain secrets of the stars. For now, here's something verifiable -- Dillard is shepherding a chamber opera based on one chapter of his life.

“When Adonis Calls” is a small, gay-themed operetta born from Dillard's poetry and the emotive letters Dillard exchanged over a short time with a young adult male fan. Performances through Asheville Lyric Opera are May 11-13 at the Masonic Temple in Asheville.

“When Adonis Calls” is the creation of John de los Santos, a freelance opera director and choreographer, who steered it onto Opera America's 2017 New Works performance calendar. The production calls for two male vocalists, two male dancers and a five-piece chamber orchestra.

“The arc has to do with the older poet and the young muse who starts our very ambitious and wants to be a famous writer,” Dillard said. “That's not exactly what the real relationship was, so it's a bit contrived. It's not inaccurate, but it's not necessarily biographical."

A biography of any justice might require multiple evenings. Dillard was raised in Asheville, but soon after graduating the North Carolina School of the Arts, he took off for New York and then West Hollywood.

He recalls brushing shoulders with some of the Beat poets and a fling with soon-to-be music mogul David Geffen, whom he credits for both pulling him out of the porn industry and for introducing him to film and television mogul Barry Diller. Their relationship, Dillard said, lasted a decade.

“David was having issues, and he wasn't out at that point. He was living with Marlo Thomas, so I was kicking her shoes out of the way when I got in and out of bed,” Dillard recalled. “I'd roll over in the morning and pick up the phone and it would be John Lennon, and David would run to the bathroom and say ‘Talk to John for a while,' so I'd yammer for a while with John or Yoko Ono or Rona Barrett, whoever was on the line. David introduced me to Barry Diller, who interested me a lot more. At that point, I knew everybody, and everybody knew I was Barry's boy.

Dillard wrote about all this and more — his drug use, the friends and lovers he lost to AIDS — in an autobiography nearly quashed by the threats of libel lawsuits.

"I never really had consistent living. I just somehow managed,” he said. “I bullied my way into a position of pastry chefhood and ended up taking over (the restaurant). I was pushy and I was cute and I knew how to get what I wanted.”

From his earliest memories, Dillard has written poetry, producing nine books of largely homoerotic verse. Public readings of his work in Southern California gave him another avenue of notoriety.

Gavin Geoffrey Dillard has a story to tell.

“I ended up being in a relationship with David Geffen,” he said.

And another.

“I wrote comedy for Joan Rivers, Dolly Parton, Lily Tomlin, Vincent Price, Peggy Lee.”

Gavin Geoffrey Dillard

Credit Matt Peiken | BPR News

And another.

“I was the No.1 gay porn star in the world for two years.”

And another.

“I've seen flying saucers up very close,” he said. “I've been taken to a place where there's a wormhole and seen many ships go back and forth.”

And another.

“In L.A. I became famous as the naked poet, because I did poetry readings all over town in the buff, and the L.A. Times gave me the moniker of the Naked Poet and it stuck.”

If you've ever heard Sam Harris sing “The Rescue” on the radio, you've heard a little change drop into Dillard's pocket, because he wrote the lyrics. Ever hear of the stage show “Bark! The Musical?” Dillard wrote most of those lyrics too.

You can Google some of this for yourself, along with other remembrances Dillard will recount with matter-of-fact pride. Other claims are destined to remain secrets of the stars. For now, here's something verifiable -- Dillard is shepherding a chamber opera based on one chapter of his life.

“When Adonis Calls” is a small, gay-themed operetta born from Dillard's poetry and the emotive letters Dillard exchanged over a short time with a young adult male fan. Performances through Asheville Lyric Opera are May 11-13 at the Masonic Temple in Asheville.

“When Adonis Calls” is the creation of John de los Santos, a freelance opera director and choreographer, who steered it onto Opera America's 2017 New Works performance calendar. The production calls for two male vocalists, two male dancers and a five-piece chamber orchestra.

“The arc has to do with the older poet and the young muse who starts our very ambitious and wants to be a famous writer,” Dillard said. “That's not exactly what the real relationship was, so it's a bit contrived. It's not inaccurate, but it's not necessarily biographical."

A biography of any justice might require multiple evenings. Dillard was raised in Asheville, but soon after graduating the North Carolina School of the Arts, he took off for New York and then West Hollywood.

He recalls brushing shoulders with some of the Beat poets and a fling with soon-to-be music mogul David Geffen, whom he credits for both pulling him out of the porn industry and for introducing him to film and television mogul Barry Diller. Their relationship, Dillard said, lasted a decade.

“David was having issues, and he wasn't out at that point. He was living with Marlo Thomas, so I was kicking her shoes out of the way when I got in and out of bed,” Dillard recalled. “I'd roll over in the morning and pick up the phone and it would be John Lennon, and David would run to the bathroom and say ‘Talk to John for a while,' so I'd yammer for a while with John or Yoko Ono or Rona Barrett, whoever was on the line. David introduced me to Barry Diller, who interested me a lot more. At that point, I knew everybody, and everybody knew I was Barry's boy.

Dillard wrote about all this and more — his drug use, the friends and lovers he lost to AIDS — in an autobiography nearly quashed by the threats of libel lawsuits.

"I never really had consistent living. I just somehow managed,” he said. “I bullied my way into a position of pastry chefhood and ended up taking over (the restaurant). I was pushy and I was cute and I knew how to get what I wanted.”

From his earliest memories, Dillard has written poetry, producing nine books of largely homoerotic verse. Public readings of his work in Southern California gave him another avenue of notoriety.