Sweet and Lowdown: How a self-described crazy doctor from the Midwest helped Victoria Williams save her Sweet Relief Musicians Fund

If Victoria Williams sounds unenthusiastic, she says, it’s because of the state of health care in America. She wonders why our country’s priorities are so fucked up.

And then there are the damn bombs.

“I live near Twentynine Palms, and they’re always shooting off bombs,” the 51-year-old renowned folk singer and songwriter says over the phone from her home in Joshua Tree, California.

“I hear that each one of those bombs costs $30,000, and I’m like, ‘Oh, well, just great.’ They’re shaking the windows and doors here, and they’re gonna go be shaking the windows and doors in Afghanistan.”

Some 18 years ago, Williams was hit by a bomb of a different kind. On tour with Neil Young in 1991, she began to experience the symptoms of the multiple sclerosis she would be diagnosed with the next year. She had no insurance.

Her friends rallied, throwing benefit concerts and putting together a compilation album titled Sweet Relief that featured major names such as Pearl Jam and Lou Reed performing Williams’ songs.

They raised enough to pay her $20,000-plus bill. Afterward, Williams founded the Sweet Relief Musicians Fund, which raises money to help musicians who are in need because of health problems. Insured, uninsured, famous or unknown — if they made money as musicians and got sick and needed rent, Sweet Relief was there to help. Williams fought on.

Unlike debt, however, MS never goes away. This and other health problems prompted Williams, a year ago, to apply for relief from the organization she had started. She was met with bad news. The director at the time told her that Sweet Relief had no money and was about to close down for good.

Around this same time, a Kansas City doctor came calling. Mark Matthews, an anesthesiologist at St. Luke’s, hadn’t come to give medical advice, however — at least, not at first. Matthews had been a professional musician in the ’70s and was a fan of Williams’ since discovering her on a 1990 broadcast of Austin City Limits.

In March 2008, Matthews and his family were planning a vacation to Palm Springs. He knew that Williams lived nearby and decided to send her a MySpace message asking if she had any shows coming up. He expected no response, but within an hour, Williams wrote him back, inviting him to a show at a bar near her house.

Matthews knew about Sweet Relief, but his first visit to see Williams was all about the music. He went to the show and got her to sign a CD. A few weeks later, Matthews was thinking about donating some money to a charity and e-mailed Williams to ask how Sweet Relief was doing. Williams gave him the sad update.

Any other potential donor might have walked away. Not “Dr. Mark,” as Williams calls him.

Matthews sees the massive flaws in the American health care system.

“Health care is gonna break our back,” he says.

The numbers show it. The National Coalition on Health Care has reported that in 2007, Americans spent $2.4 trillion, or $7,900 per person, on health care. Meanwhile, 46 million Americans have no insurance; for those insured, rates have more than doubled in the past 10 years while wages have only increased 29 percent on average.

Dr. Mark wasn’t about to let Sweet Relief die.

Over several visits to California in 2008, Matthews worked with Williams to elect a new board and to raise funds from donors.

“He generously is keeping Sweet Relief going,” Williams says.

Matthews estimates that in six months, Sweet Relief will have enough money to begin helping musicians again. Already, folks are climbing aboard. For example, the legendary Los Angeles punk band X has just reunited and is raising money for the fund on its current tour.

You’ll have to go to Chicago (or somewhere even farther) to get a piece of that action, but you can support Sweet Relief by seeing Williams play Liberty Hall Friday night. It should be an interesting show.

Not only is Williams playing our area for the first time in years, but she’ll also be playing with a group of musicians she has never played with and probably won’t play with again.

Opening the night is Lawrence bluegrass act the Midday Ramblers, followed by a short set from Don and Lori Chaffer of the crossover Christian act Waterdeep. Then the Chaffers, together with a group of crack local musicians — including well-known rock-scene drummer and cancer survivor Billy Brimblecom — will back Williams as she plays 20 or so of her songs.

Matthews, too, will be sitting in. (“I can hold my own,” he says, when asked about his guitar skills.)

It’ll be a rare chance to see a living legend in a one-of-a-kind setting. A living legend, that is, whose insurance deductible is so high, she has to pay nearly 10 grand a year out of her own pocket before her health insurance kicks in.

Let’s get this gal some relief.