A Song for the Dead

This past Tuesday was a solemn occasion on the Interwebs as everybody and his or her brother felt obliged to comment on the 17th anniversary of Kurt Cobain's death: where they were when they heard the news (and granted, the news actually broke on April 8 because his body wasn't found until then), how they feel frickin' old because it's been so long, wondering what kind of music he'd be making if he was alive today, pondering the legacy he left behind, etc.

I've certainly done it before, but this year, it just seemed kind of pointless. It's not that Cobain's death wasn't a shock to me at the time; it just wasn't shocking. The signs were there for at least two years before he actually blew his brains out: the heroin use and subsequent ODs, the depression over his fame, his screwed-up marriage, etc. I saw Nirvana in Springfield, Mass., in November 1993 and I felt a sense of relief that I was able to see them play before he died. Because it really did seem inevitable that it would happen soon. And sure enough, he was gone less than six months later.

In a strange twist of fate, another screwed up Seattle singer died on the same day as Cobain eight years later. Layne Staley of Alice in Chains was found about two weeks after he actually died, all 86 emaciated pounds of him. He had been hooked on heroin for years, and 10 years earlier had documented his hellish ride on AIC's classic album Dirt. It was a pathetic end to a sad life.

As I get older, more and more of my rock (and other) heroes are dying. The first death I really remember being bummed out by was that of John "Bonzo" Bonham, the drummer of Led Zeppelin. I had just gotten into Zep, so it was a real disappointment. Then a few years later, Ozzy Osbourne's guitarist Randy Rhoads died in a plane crash. Marvin Gaye was shot by his father. Phil Lynott. Stevie Ray Vaughan. Andrew Wood. Michael Hutchence. Jeff Buckley. John Entwistle. Joey, Johnny and Dee Dee Ramone. Johnny Thunders. Steve Clark. Shannon Hoon. Richard Manuel. Jerry Garcia. Tim Taylor. Alex Chilton. Gary Moore. The list goes on and on. And on.

After a while, you get kind of numb to it all. It's a bummer, but life goes on. And we've got the music to remember them by. And that's the only memory that really matters in the end.