Lost and Found
It is impossible to have been a music fan of damn near any variety and not felt a great sense of loss over the last several months.
Metal fan? Damn right we lost Lemmy.
Country fan? A life well lived in Merle Haggard but with 79 being the new 69 (that sentence seemed way less pervy in my head) it still felt too soon.
Rock and pop fan? Losing David Bowie absolutely sucked but there were at least some hints and rumors that he was in poor health. But last week's passing of Prince at just 57 felt criminal. Like Bowie and Merle and Lemmy he still had something to say. Maybe his most popular work wasn't still to come but creative genius was his forte and something tells me there were great singles and album highlights to come. Given the rumored hundreds (if not thousands) of recordings in the vaults I am sure we'll hear some of it. I hope it is curated carefully and with a lot of thought to what he would or would not have wanted out there. (For example, I find myself turned off by how many posthumous recordings from Jeff Buckley have been released since his passing.)
In the last roughly 11 months loss hits me on levels it never did before. We half-expect our music or cinematic idols to pass, either from lifestyle or age catching up with them or both. We are in shock when it's Heath Ledger or River Phoenix, less so when it's James Garner or the recently passed Doris Roberts. In the mean time we take it for granted that Betty White and Keith Richards may very well live forever. (Spoiler Alert: They won't.)
Last June I lost my father at age 72. This Sunday May 1st he would have been 73 and I find myself wondering how to mark the day. Do I say to the sky "Happy 73rd, Papa Bear" or is he stuck at the age he left me? It the version of him in the after world the age of his choosing in some Field of Dreams-like way? Is the ghost that watches over me and maybe more importantly watches over my sons, my niece, and my nephews (or maybe just watches over fantastic golf courses?) taking the form of his 20-something self or constantly morphing while floating in the ether? These are the weird questions that haunt me. Other more practical ones do, too. Things like "Would my father be a Kasich guy?" I think he would be but. But then I'd have to be pissed with him when tells me he'd rather vote for Trump than ever cast a vote for Clinton. I'd plead with him to just leave it blank and not give his credibility to someone like that.
Instead, for the first time in my voting life my vote won't be offset by my old man. And while I, like so many Americans, don't want a world where Donald Trump could be Commander in Chief I still wish my vote was going to be offset this November. I would give a lot of things up just for that; for that opportunity to debate this crazy cycle with my father. We drove each other nuts every 4 years and yet I miss being nuts.
But in my more reflective moments or when the sadness is done washing over me and something else takes it's place I am reminded that there will always be loss. But there will also be discovery. We lose Prince. But then we get what is apparently a motherfucker of a new record from Beyonce. We lose Merle but we see mainstream country taking a turn in his direction, with the Chris Stapleton's and Sturgill Simpon's of the world hitting #1 on the Country Charts.
I will always miss my Dad. And May 1st and Father's Day are probably going to be tough from now on. But so be it. There will be ways to find joy in those days while not forgetting my loss.
In the past year I've lost musicians I love, a father I was lucky to have, and saw a year-long relationship suddenly disappear (along with my couch, some of my pots and pans, and a dog; take that Merle). I will lose other musical heroes and I know myself well enough that as awesome as someone I've just started dating is (and she is pretty great) the law of averages would suggest we may not be together in another year. There are losses that pass and others that stick and I'm keenly aware in the past year of the difference.
My most pleasant thought this past weekend was how much my father rolled his eyes at my big sister's Prince worship period (circa 1984) and the comforting realization that in my imaginary ideal of heaven or the after life we get to meet whoever we want and there are no bad vibes to be found. My Father can shake hands with Prince and say, "I never understood the appeal but you obviously meant a lot to my kids" and Prince could flash that grin he had in Purple Rain and they could appreciate each other if just for a moment. They could walk passed Richard Nixon and John Kennedy sharing a laugh. They can be anything now. They can be anywhere and everywhere. I know this about my Dad because in many ways I see him now more than I did a year ago.
J
Metal fan? Damn right we lost Lemmy.
Country fan? A life well lived in Merle Haggard but with 79 being the new 69 (that sentence seemed way less pervy in my head) it still felt too soon.
Rock and pop fan? Losing David Bowie absolutely sucked but there were at least some hints and rumors that he was in poor health. But last week's passing of Prince at just 57 felt criminal. Like Bowie and Merle and Lemmy he still had something to say. Maybe his most popular work wasn't still to come but creative genius was his forte and something tells me there were great singles and album highlights to come. Given the rumored hundreds (if not thousands) of recordings in the vaults I am sure we'll hear some of it. I hope it is curated carefully and with a lot of thought to what he would or would not have wanted out there. (For example, I find myself turned off by how many posthumous recordings from Jeff Buckley have been released since his passing.)
In the last roughly 11 months loss hits me on levels it never did before. We half-expect our music or cinematic idols to pass, either from lifestyle or age catching up with them or both. We are in shock when it's Heath Ledger or River Phoenix, less so when it's James Garner or the recently passed Doris Roberts. In the mean time we take it for granted that Betty White and Keith Richards may very well live forever. (Spoiler Alert: They won't.)
Last June I lost my father at age 72. This Sunday May 1st he would have been 73 and I find myself wondering how to mark the day. Do I say to the sky "Happy 73rd, Papa Bear" or is he stuck at the age he left me? It the version of him in the after world the age of his choosing in some Field of Dreams-like way? Is the ghost that watches over me and maybe more importantly watches over my sons, my niece, and my nephews (or maybe just watches over fantastic golf courses?) taking the form of his 20-something self or constantly morphing while floating in the ether? These are the weird questions that haunt me. Other more practical ones do, too. Things like "Would my father be a Kasich guy?" I think he would be but. But then I'd have to be pissed with him when tells me he'd rather vote for Trump than ever cast a vote for Clinton. I'd plead with him to just leave it blank and not give his credibility to someone like that.
Instead, for the first time in my voting life my vote won't be offset by my old man. And while I, like so many Americans, don't want a world where Donald Trump could be Commander in Chief I still wish my vote was going to be offset this November. I would give a lot of things up just for that; for that opportunity to debate this crazy cycle with my father. We drove each other nuts every 4 years and yet I miss being nuts.
But in my more reflective moments or when the sadness is done washing over me and something else takes it's place I am reminded that there will always be loss. But there will also be discovery. We lose Prince. But then we get what is apparently a motherfucker of a new record from Beyonce. We lose Merle but we see mainstream country taking a turn in his direction, with the Chris Stapleton's and Sturgill Simpon's of the world hitting #1 on the Country Charts.
I will always miss my Dad. And May 1st and Father's Day are probably going to be tough from now on. But so be it. There will be ways to find joy in those days while not forgetting my loss.
In the past year I've lost musicians I love, a father I was lucky to have, and saw a year-long relationship suddenly disappear (along with my couch, some of my pots and pans, and a dog; take that Merle). I will lose other musical heroes and I know myself well enough that as awesome as someone I've just started dating is (and she is pretty great) the law of averages would suggest we may not be together in another year. There are losses that pass and others that stick and I'm keenly aware in the past year of the difference.
My most pleasant thought this past weekend was how much my father rolled his eyes at my big sister's Prince worship period (circa 1984) and the comforting realization that in my imaginary ideal of heaven or the after life we get to meet whoever we want and there are no bad vibes to be found. My Father can shake hands with Prince and say, "I never understood the appeal but you obviously meant a lot to my kids" and Prince could flash that grin he had in Purple Rain and they could appreciate each other if just for a moment. They could walk passed Richard Nixon and John Kennedy sharing a laugh. They can be anything now. They can be anywhere and everywhere. I know this about my Dad because in many ways I see him now more than I did a year ago.
J