Born to Inspire: Reflections on Life, Death, & Hardcore From the Late Eddie Leeway

An extensive unearthed interview with the underground music legend who publicly battled cancer for several year and died last April

Photo by Gerson Vargas

By June of 2022, Eddie Leeway had been to Hell and back at least a dozen times over.

Fifteen months of chemo with no end in sight…

Two masses on the left adrenal gland atop his kidney zapping him with near-constant back pain…

Surgery to remove thirteen cancerous lesions from his brain…

Gamma knife treatments to keep various other tumors in check…

And yet the underground legend born Edward Anthony Pomponio remained miraculously true to that P.M.A.*

“The mass in my right lung has shrunk a great deal and I can breathe enough to perform still,” he told me. “I have to pace myself but my vocals are as strong as ever, thankfully.”

Priorities!

To say Eddie didn’t dwell on his diagnosis would be something of an understatement. He was much more eager to talk about the collectable baseball cards he was buying and selling for cash flow (“It’s in my blood; something I’ve done off and on since I was a kid”), his backing band for LeewayNYC featuring members of Damn Your Eyes, upcoming shows, and, of course, hardcore old and new.

Eddie embodied the transcendental insight — chanted by Gregorian monks in the fourteenth century and co-opted by Morrissey in the twentieth — Media vita in morte sumus.

In the midst of life we are in death.

***

I first became friendly with Eddie six or seven years ago while struggling to assemble an ill-fated Decibel Hall of Fame feature on the groundbreaking 1989 Leeway masterpiece Born to Expire. (Only the failure to make a HoF on Gorilla Biscuits’ Start Today happen before guitarist Alex Brown’s death from an aneurysm in January 2019 is a bigger regret in that regard.) In late 2021, the year my marriage fell apart and I was grasping at anchors, my most played song on Spotify was “Rise & Fall.” I sent Eddie a screenshot of the shareable “wrap” stat from the app. “Beautiful,” he replied, opening the door to deeper discussions and the prospect of an in-depth interview on what his trial had taught him about life — and what he thought it might teach other people.

“My health has improved but this is a battle I'll be fighting the rest of my life,” he told me. “This form of cancer is very spreadable. I'm making the best of what time I have and I keep my head up.”

After several postponements due to treatments and the up and down nature of the disease itself, we spoke for a little under two hours in late 2022.

Strangely, I got Leeway guitarist Michael Gibbons on the record only a couple of days earlier. Gibbons died on December 27, 2023.

“I'm very fortunate to have had the experiences [Michael and I] shared together during the early years and I'll take them with me when it's my time to pass, too,” Eddie wrote on Instagram at the time. “In the meantime I will try and build on both of our legacies while I still can and I'll celebrate him as well.”

Eddie passed away a little more than four months later on April 19, 2024 in his sleep.

Though he did not have as much time for building and celebration as he, his loved ones, and legions of fans would’ve preferred, it’s safe to say both men’s legacies are secure.

***

I’ve said this to you off the record several times, but I feel like I should do it at the outset of this on-the-record conversation: I’m very sorry to see all you’ve been through in the last couple years.

Well, you know, I appreciate it, but it also is what it is. I'm living my life. I don't have the stamina or energy that I used to have, which I’m not thrilled about. At the same time, I take responsibility for it. All of it. I smoked all my life and this is kind of what happens when you're over 55 and you’ve lived a certain way. It was a surprise to me, but not surprising. Know what I mean? 

Yeah, absolutely. But we all do that in some way. Or most of us — I probably shouldn’t speak for everyone. There’s a line from an old Karate song that always resonated with me: “God forgive us for the risks that we take.” ** And, as much as I hate this for you, it’s been inspiring to see how you’ve taken the disease on. I mean, you’re still playing shows, still doing new things, still hustling. You seem to have struck a good balance between acknowledging the fight you’re in while still living your life on your terms.   

Thanks, man. It helps that I have good people around me — and not just my family. I’ve got great friends, the hardcore scene has stepped up for me in a huge way, for which I’m very appreciative. That’s not to say it hasn’t been a struggle. It hasn’t been easy. I dealt with a breakup last fall and that did have a negative effect on me for a while. But, you know, life keeps happening. It’s not like you get cancer and suddenly you’re given a pass on all the other struggles of life.

I'm always interested in the backgrounds of innovators such as yourself. Could you maybe give me a thumbnail sketch of your journey into art? Was music something present in your household growing up? Or did you discover it on your own? 

It was around the house. My dad was a bit of an outlaw and listened to a lot of hard rock. My mom was into R&B and show tunes. I kinda got the whole big mix, the whole arc of popular music. The first record I owned personally as a kid was the Jackson 5, ABC. I felt inspired by music very early on, singing along to all this different stuff around the house. I tried to learn to carry a tune first and then went looking for my own style. Journey is a good word. I was doing Grandmaster Flash covers in bars way before I was fronting Leeway. 

And this is in the seventies? 

Yeah. 

Which was also an era of big arena rock and the rise of heavy metal and punk. Did you just naturally segue into that?

Very much so. More through metal initially. Like you said, I’m a seventies kid and musicianship was a profound part of that era. Even when I first discovered hardcore, I didn’t know if I could consider myself hardcore. I had this assumption that hardcore required you to be a purist. Which I am not. But I learned pretty quickly that hardcore is not a sound. It’s about passion and creating your own path. It’s about the desire to find yourself — your real self. That’s how we all end up here. Hardcore, at its best, is an idea as much as anything else. And that idea is, Be you.     

No other way Leeway could exist, really.

True enough. From the beginning, I wanted to do this music with my own flavor. And I was blessed to find musicians I was able to grow with and we inspired each other to create something none of us could’ve created on our own. 

Did you consider other paths in life? Or was this it?

I don’t know what else I’m suited for, man. [Laughs.] I loved baseball but didn’t have the talent to be a player. I didn't have the attention span to become a lawyer or whatever. That would become very clear over time. This music and the DIY ethic that was hardcore just fit for me, you know? It just did. And I enjoyed the energy. It was quite exhilarating to be on stage and get that energy from a crowd. It was a give and take that once you experience is hard to shake. I was just lucky to be able to practice and grow within the scene. I was also just lucky that there's not that many guys outta New York who can carry a tune, so I was able to stand out a bit. 

You stood out more than a bit! Your vocal approach — wedding a melodic sensibility to hardcore fire — is still distinctive but back then was really distinctive. Things were much more gruff in the scene overall, obviously.

I appreciate that and, like I said, I always worked to get better, but I can’t really explain it in depth because the vocal style just came naturally.

So you always saw yourself as a frontman? You never thought about, say, playing guitar or playing bass or anything?

I banged around with drums a little bit — like Raybeez*** before he switched to vocals, too — but nothing that could help me be in a band. I didn't have the attention span to really sit down and focus on an instrument. With that mic I felt like I was where I was meant to be.

You said your dad was an outlaw. Is that, like, what it said on his resume?

Ha! Actually, my dad was a film editor, but also a wiseguy. My mom was a legal secretary.

Interesting combination!

Yeah, and I had two sisters. And my dad had another family, but we are not close.

Were your sisters into the same music at all?

For sure. They used to enjoy coming out to see me. My mom would go to shows early on, too. Actually, my sisters became friendly with the Bad Brains because during those first five years we were not just playing local shows but touring nationally and internationally. We must’ve played a hundred and fifty shows with them. It wasn’t always the original Bad Brains, but we got to tour Europe with them; did the Quickness tour in ‘89. They were good people who were older and had been around longer. We learned a lot from them and, yeah, they were kind to my family, which was like, Wow, because they were heroes to me. One of the greatest bands ever, period.   

So, to rewind a bit, how did you discover hardcore? 

Well, I moved back to Queens after living on Long Island for like seven years. I moved back to Astoria the same night John Lennon was shot and killed, actually. By that following spring and summer, I met guys that followed the music scene, which was still very punk at the time. It didn’t really become more metal or crossover until, like, after 85. So, I met the band Kraut and started traveling with them, going to their shows — whether they were playing in New York or New Jersey or Connecticut. Some of those shows we weren’t supposed to get into because they weren’t all ages, but we figured it out. 

“...but we figured it out” kind of sums up the entire genesis of hardcore, right?

Where there’s a will, there’s a way, man. And that’s the way it was back then. Everybody started from scratch in those early years. I don't even know many bands were practicing that much at first — just channeling energy. But the more people saw what was possible as bands like, for example, Sick of it All raised the bar and became this juggernaut, people saw the potential we had in this scene and were inspired to work harder, practice more. I know a lot of people have told me Leeway encouraged them to focus more on musicianship and try to take things further. We were listening to underground bands, but also a lot of metal. 

Yeah, I don’t really think there’s any doubt about the band’s impact. Did the band resonate with people pretty quickly from your perspective?

You know, the first couple of shows got us some recognition, but to get to a place where we could play like CBs or the Rock Hotel shows took a little time. Back then you did have to kind of earn the reputation a bit before you really got a lot of attention. And we needed that year or year and a half, to be honest, for us to internally really understand where we were going musically and philosophically or whatever. Within a few years, though, we had the opportunity to sign to Profile Records with Chris Williamson and we were given a decent budget to record. At the time we were young and three and a half years probably seemed like forever, but that goes by in a heartbeat now, right?

Did you have any particular touchstones or inspirations when it came to lyricists? 

My influences vary, as you might imagine. I guess R&B inspired me to write love songs. Early Sabbath was big for me, especially around Born to Expire, because it was metal and heavy but it wasn’t fantasy Dungeons & Dragons stuff. It came from the heart. That’s probably more Geezer Butler than Ozzy, I guess. I basically wrote songs from — and about — the streets. 

I feel like you can also hear the grandeur of that seventies rock you grew up on in Leeway lyrics as well. Almost cinematic.  

We were in a band that wasn't as directly political as a lot of the punk bands were early on. That just didn't seem like something for us, you know? Also, New York City in the eighties was a very wild place compared to today's world. I don’t want to overplay it. We weren’t in a scene where everyone was packing or getting shot up by opposition gangs or whatever. We dealt with violence, but it was more fisticuffs than it was gun violence. That was one thing that didn't ever really cross into the scene — just maybe some stabbings.

Just a stabbing here and there.

Right. [Laughs.]

Some light stab-ery. 

A bit. But, you know, the streets I was running around in, there were people out there shooting and stuff like that. It just wasn’t a thing in the music scene.

One of the things I really appreciate about Leeway — and this is something for which you’ve obviously taken some flack — is the creative restlessness of the band. Up through even the most recent incarnations, you never rested on your laurels. How conscious was that process of constant evolution?

I think that was kind of natural, too. I don't think any of us were in a place as musicians to just sit back and not learn, to not grow. Through the whole eleven year period that the band was really tight, we were always trying to improve. We always wanted to push the envelope and explore. It was just part of the DNA. As you said, pretty much every album sounds different. I mean, the first two have similarities, but the third and the fourth definitely have their own thing going on. Did we get ahead of ourselves? Yeah, probably. I personally think Adult Crash (1994) is an example of that. We weren’t quite where we needed to be to make it work yet. We got there with Open Mouth Kiss (1995), in my opinion. But by then the band was going through a lot of issues and we weren't getting any help from management or record labels and stuff like that. Eventually it started to fizzle out. 

Interviewing metal and hardcore bands, post-hardcore bands, whatever, for the last twenty years, Leeway comes up as an influence all the time. It feels like the band should’ve hit in a bigger way, no?

Well, to be fair, we weren’t the smartest businessmen, either. We didn’t exactly make great decisions when it came to who to run with, if you know what I mean.

There’s also the Velvet Underground “the record only sold 10,000 copies but everyone of those buyers started a band” thing; the issue of breaking open the door for others to walk through. ****

I’ll be really, really honest with you right now: I felt bitter about it. I felt bitter about it for a long, long time. Around the turn of the millennium, though, with age and experience, I realized that that’s all ego. It doesn’t really matter. We could’ve been easily overlooked or forgotten entirely. I mean, what if the Bad Brains hadn’t taken an interest in us, you know?

That refusal to put yourself up on a pedestal and dedication to staying authentic is probably a big part of the reason new people are still finding and connecting with Leeway.

I guess it depends on the person. If you say it, I’m happy to hear it. I was just running on instinct and feeling. By keeping it honest and writing from experience, I was just making it easy for myself. There wasn’t a lot of strategizing about making things relatable for a bigger audience. I was trying to convey a feeling and tell stories that would resonate for people in this scene. The hardcore scene. Obviously, I couldn’t do that without good music to inspire me. And I was lucky in that respect. Luckier than I could’ve hoped to be honest with you. I just added my part and tried to make it worthy of the amazing songs with which I was presented.

There's enough people that understand the history of this thing and know that we have a place as far as influencing the sound that became New York hardcore as well as a lot of the newer bands that are doing it today. Bands that start after I’m gone will very likely still be influenced by what we did. And I take a lot of pride in that — I got at least one thing right in life, you could say. But to the extent it’s true, getting that one thing right is enough for me.

It’s not a mirage. The kids going wild at This is Hardcore [2022, embedded below] are Exhibit A. 

I appreciate that. The longevity doesn’t equate to ticket sales or a living wage, but it’s heartwarming that the people who do come out are all-in and don’t treat me like that much of an old timer. It’s not like we play big shows all the time. It’s mostly smaller stuff. But then there are key shows like This is Hardcore where we are treated incredible. Which makes me feel good. We get respect from where it’s most important to me. 

Do the song meanings continue to evolve for you and inspire you in new ways as you get older?

I believe so. I always tried to write lyrics that left a song open to individual interpretation. And, you know, I’m an individual, too. [Laughs.] And I feel like I got that right when people come up to me and say a Leeway song helped get them through a tough time. It might be depression or addiction or divorce or a battle with cancer — the lyrics obviously aren’t about all those things but can be applied to all those things by the people going through them. The listeners are a part of this. It’s a conversation and it makes me feel good to have started a conversation that so many people feel like they’re included in and had a positive impact on so many lives. That’s what hardcore is about to me. It makes me feel good. And it’s a special thing to know as I go through what I’m going through right now.  

You messaged me after the initial post I wrote at Decibel about your fundraiser to say your diagnosis and treatment had shifted somehow.

Yeah. Originally, I was misdiagnosed with Adenocarcinoma. When I switched hospitals and went to NYU in New York — which is, like, second to only Sloan Kettering as far as cancer treatment — they diagnosed me with squamous cell carcinoma. And this is a spreadable cancer. So I've been in chemo now for fifteen months. There is no end in sight. Luckily, I don't have that many symptoms other than the hair loss, though, which is not a problem to me. I used to shave my head when I was a kid in the eighties, so, you know, it's not a big deal to me now. Being terminal is another story. That feels weird even to say. This is going to be an ongoing battle for as long as I'm on the planet, but I figure I still have a few good years left, you know what I mean?

What’s day to day like?

Up and down. It comes and it goes. I did go through a lot in February and March. I caught pneumonia and I stopped eating. Lost twenty-five pounds. But I was able to regain that and more. I'm heavier now than I was when I was originally diagnosed! The tumor that was in my right lung has shrunk significantly. There’s two masses that I have on my left kidney — the top part; the adrenal gland. I've had thirteen lesions removed from my brain. But the treatments are keeping me alive. I just don't know how long it's going to be before it eventually takes me out, you know? But, like I said, I take responsibility for it. It is what it is. There's a lot of people dealing with one health issue or another when they reach my age. At least I know what my fight is. A lot of people don’t know what’s coming for them until it’s too late. So, I feel a responsibility to speak up about it. I’m just hoping people can learn from my fight and can be inspired by the fact that I keep trying to live life on my own terms and doing my thing.

It’s amazing, honestly. You told me you have five scheduled radiation treatments and then almost immediately you play a show at Bowery Electric.

Yep. Free, all ages. That’s my life now. One day I’m getting some treatment, the next I’m playing This is Hardcore. Let me tell you, knowing I’ve got a gig coming up makes radiation a lot easier to endure. I gotta make the best of it ‘cause I know what I’m living for.

“Rise and Fall”…but rise again. You’re drawing strength from these performances.

Yeah. Doesn’t hurt that I've got a great band with me now. Three of them are in a band called Damn Your Eyes. Great dudes. I probably would not have been able to bounce back from the challenges I've had this past winter if it wasn't for them. I feel like I've got a real band of brothers with me in this fight, so it's beautiful like that.

So much of hardcore is focused on overcoming, on PMA. Do you feel like your time in hardcore has helped you prepare for this?

Sure. Absolutely. I mean, as far as PMA goes, we can be real about it, too: I’ve felt real fear. I don’t wanna die in a bed all shriveled up, you know? I want to find a way to transition from this world on my own terms — and I’ve felt gloomy sometimes when I think that might not be possible. But I don’t dwell on it. I have gratitude. And I just get up every day and focus on what’s good, on my family and friends, on my routine and what I’ve got to do. I make sure I take my medication, vitamins, keep my weight up, make my appointments.

I can tell you this: I've never wanted to just give up while being sick.

So…be resilient, be present, be loyal, don’t flake, keep moving forward — that’s all stuff that I don’t know if I necessarily got from hardcore but is definitely a fundamental part of hardcore. I can’t really separate myself from it to answer your question in a clear way. I can say that the lifestyle that I've led has made me a fighter and a survivor up to this point. A lot of the things that I've been through, other people would've probably folded up their tent and given up. I haven't done that. I can also say every time I've come back to it, I've been welcomed with open arms and it has contributed to me living a more conscious and purposeful life. And that’s helped me to accept the challenge that I'm going through right now.

The success of the GoFundMe shows the scene is behind you.

Yeah. That money is really appreciated — that’s one thing I do want everyone to know. Also, just because I have Medicaid doesn't mean my travel expenses and everything else is covered. And I don't have disability, so I'm not getting that. I still have to find ways to hustle and grind, sell merch. Do what I do to keep going. The last few months I've been dealing with back pain on my left side, so it's not realistic for me to be working and doing labor right now. So whatever help I can get is important and appreciated.

I don't even think you have to explain it. You're going through this crazy thing.

Well, I'm just being clear about it. That’s important to me. I'm not asking for people to send me money so I can go record another EP or something.

Of course.

People need to know their help is humbling to me. It really is. I don't have this huge ego. I don't have that lead singer's disease that most frontmen have. I consider myself just a regular guy who got to be a part of this thing and stake my claim. And I'm blessed that when I leave this world I’ll leave something behind beyond the love of family and friends.

Yeah, definitely.

Listen, Shawn, we could talk all night about this, but right now I gotta go and take some pain meds. It’s starting to hit me. I’m sorry.   

No, I 100 percent understand.

Let’s talk again soon, pick it back up. I just want people to know I’m thankful and appreciate them and believe I still have something left in the tank to give back. To life and to hardcore — I owe both plenty. I always feel like this music can make some of us feel younger, stronger than our years. I don't feel like that much of an old man for 57, you know? So I consider myself pretty lucky for however long I’m blessed to be here. 

* Lyrics to “Born to Expire” seem relevant here:

How much more does life have in store
Before the reaper comes to get paid?
Authorites catch
Civil laws don't match
And it takes my P.M.A.
Staring at the walls, constantly numb
Try to think of what I can do for fun
Aggravation coursing through my nerves
Can't sit here as the world burns

** I screwed up the Karate lyric from “Small Fires” here, and the correct one feels to me worth quoting at greater length below:

So much for Saturdays/And other days when lives are at stake/God forgive us for the hatred/For the risks that we take/Boys forget promises from both coasts

Well, what would it take to get out now?

Is this what they call the end?/Are we sleeping on a dark star?/Is this some saint we all forgot?/Is she burning in a parked car?/Because violence is so, so slow/And the patience will do us in

*** You can hear Raybeez play drums on the seminal Agnostic Front EP United Blood. I wrote about Raybeez legacy here. One of my favorite Walter Schreifels solo songs is the tribute to Raybeez, “An Open Letter to the Scene.”

**** The actual quote is from Brian Eno, which I did not know until I Googled, and the full, semi-interesting context is here.

This piece is cross-posted at Mule/Stall, which is where most of my music/film/art/culture writing will now live, with Full Vessel going more into self-development territory. Follow if so inclined. This piece feels like it lives in both worlds.