My friend Kichi passed away this Saturday, April 10, 2021, at the age of 50. It was extremely shocking and very sad news, firstly because of his premature age, the sudden way he simply stopped living, the surprise; but mainly because Marcos Kichimoto was one of the nicest guys I've ever known, without exaggeration.
I'd known Kichi for so many years that I don't even remember the first day I saw him. It must have been around 1986 when I was taking bass lessons with André Pomba Vodu 's rehearsals , or in 1987 when I frequented the Rainbow Bar in Jabaquara and the shows at Teatro Mambembe. Our bands frequently played on that circuit, me with Exhort and him with Desaster . We supported each other and always ended up exchanging ideas, whether at the venues or on nights when we were outside, just chatting, without money for tickets. At that time, there was a metal scene in São Paulo, and we were part of it. I was there the night he was attacked by a bus full of skinheads at the door of the Rainbow Bar; I had already left, and he was waiting for 5 a.m. for the subway to open. He escaped death that day; the date was tattooed on his arm.
Kichi ended up joining the Perdizes group, a neighborhood next to ours. He started hanging out with the guys from the band Tormenta , Guilherme ( Sapotone ), Zé Amendola , Marcelo , Daniel , Alê , among many others. Every now and then we'd meet at Tormenta at Zé's house in Pacaembú, it was hilarious, and he was always there; and also with the guys from Objetivo on Paulista Avenue, we went to all the metal shows, all of them. Later he formed Kangaroos in Tilt with Zé, worked as a drum roadie for Sepultura , and was always hanging out with the guys from Ratos de Porão , with Gordo and Pedrão , at all the parties. In the early 90s we'd meet every other day at the New York bar, and later at the São Paulo bar. Without exaggeration, we were there every day, either at Der Tempel, Retrô, or after some show at Olympia. Later on, it was at Jungle, Torre do Doutor Zero, or especially Matrix; he was always there. At every party I went to, at every show I went to, Kichi was there, always cheerful, always friendly, always fun, always exchanging excellent ideas.
I will always remember him with that joy precisely because of that; whenever I met him, he was happy, in some nice place, with dear friends, having fun, telling or remembering some story, and there were many, many of them, and also many times we got drunk together (many indeed).
Years later he opened Cão Véio, and whenever I could I would visit him, sometimes I would have lunch there with my family, sometimes I would take a foreign friend who was passing through Brazil to check out the bar. It had everything that was good, excellent music, excellent beer, excellent food and a great host, Kichi (who, by the way, always brought a few extra beers: "Try this one," he would say).
That was Kichi, my dear friend of so many years.
But what also impressed me on that April 10th was that everyone felt the same way I did; everyone liked him, without exception. The guy was universally loved. People from all walks of life. He was the guy who brought all these groups together; he was friends with everyone, and everyone adored him, whether it was the metalheads, the hardcore fans, the models, the skaters, the partygoers, the rappers, the graffiti artists, the tattoo artists. Kichi moved freely among all the groups, with free passes and an "All Access" credential. If we could have had a funeral for him, they would have had to rent Allianz Parque, and he would have been very happy; he was a die-hard Palmeiras fan. He was a charismatic and incredibly funny guy, he gave everyone nicknames. When he saw me, he would say: INFERNANDO, EXHORT, GENOCIDE (one of our songs), or PICNIC METAL. He was always an encourager, not only of me, but of everyone. After the tragic news on Saturday, I went to look at the last messages we exchanged and heard hilarious audio messages, very funny messages, unpublishable.
He was always happy, but lately I'd noticed he'd been a bit upset, with the pandemic and having to close the bar. I really don't think it was because of financial issues, but because he couldn't work and therefore couldn't see his friends. That must have been very painful, and it certainly wasn't good for him.
Last Saturday night I had a dream. I dreamt about Kichi, that we were doing a soundcheck for a show and that his band was going to play. In the dream he said that his band had to be the first to play, that they had to play soon because he had to leave early. Then I woke up, sad and crying. He really did leave early, much earlier, too early.
My friend Kichi, I hope your passing was peaceful and painless, and I hope to see you again someday, to talk about music, funny stories, and laugh together. I hope you'll call me Infernando, and I'll call you Xikito. I'll remember you every time I have a beer, along with a multitude of friends you left behind. Thank you for the laughs, the extra beers, the camaraderie of so many years, the respect and affection you always had for me and everyone who crossed your path. You were a giant!
