The Beautiful Ones U Always Seem 2 Lose
Today, Prince Rogers Nelson died. The overwhelming sense of grief that has emanated from social media platforms is palpable. Although famous artists die all the time, it’s always devastating for those of us whose lives have been touched by them in one way or another. Boomers (and those even older) might scoff at the thought that musicians could be considered heroes, especially when so many of them have led messy, problematic, or straight-up distasteful personal lives. Perhaps they aren’t heroes in the same sense as those who put their lives at risk to save others, but to quote that wrestling fan from YouTube, “It’s still real to me, damn it.”
There are musicians whose art has inspired me, delighted me, made me laugh or cry or view things from another perspective, or simply given me the strength to continue when I didn’t think I wanted to exist anymore… those are my heroes. Besides, you don’t get to choose what impacts your emotions; if someone that was important to you dies, you grieve. It’s as simple as that.
Yet, there’s something else underlying that grief, and it hit me hard when David Bowie died in January of this year. What do we do in a world without our heroes, our inspirations? When John Lennon was murdered, I was sad, but I was mostly upset for my older family members who considered The Beatles their musical heroes. After all, I was only nine years old then and didn’t have those kinds of heroes yet.
I would soon, though. MTV was the start of my discovery of music that wasn’t passed down to me by my parents. In that way, Bowie occupied a unique space. I discovered him through my sister’s birth father (who was himself a huge Lennon fan) but Bowie was also omnipresent on MTV. In 1981, so were the Rolling Stones, but in the ensuing decades Bowie would be part of the mainstream’s musical consciousness in a way that the Stones weren’t. His constant self-reinvention assured that he would continue to be relevant to young music fans, regardless of the decade during which they were still considered “young.”
Thus, Bowie’s death was a massive blow. This person who I’d assumed would be around forever was gone. His music will never ever leave us, but the person who gifted it to us - that creative force - would not. Other deaths had impacted me before - Jeff Buckley, Elliott Smith, Lux Interior, Adam Yauch – but Bowie was different. Bowie influenced all of those artists, so like some kind of Renfield, his aura of brilliance grew larger through others’ artistic endeavors.
It’s become increasingly clear to me that I am part of that demographic whose heroes are dying, that my heroes are of an age where death is closer than ever. Though Bowie was 69 and suffering from cancer, Prince was only 57.
So what does this mean for people like Iggy Pop, the Mael brothers, JG Thirlwell, Jarvis Cocker, and Jeff McDonald? These are all people who have had such a significant influence on my life that I would literally not be the same person I am today had I not fallen in love with their music. In many cases, it’s not just the music but the things that they stand for which have kept me interested in them as not only creators, but as humans.
After Bowie died, when I heard Iggy Pop was planning a tour for an upcoming album, I knew I had to go. Having never gotten the chance to see Bowie, I knew I had to see Iggy, whose life and career has been integral to my existence for the better part of two decades. I had seen him in 1994 and again in 2010, but now I felt like time was running out.
The 1988 interview in this YouTube clip reveals something extraordinary. When asked what kind of people he likes to see at his gigs, Iggy replies:
“The kind of people that you can tell really, really enjoy the kind of music in a [rubs his chest] visceral way, they feel it in their inside, the think about it, they live by it, you could use the word religion, and I wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. Because that’s the way I feel about it.
I think there’s an audience out there, a vast audience that uses music as one more accessory. Like, you know, once they buy the home, and then they put in the beige carpets, and hire the decorator… ‘Well, gee, we really had better have some music, too. Well, who should we buy? Well, who’s in?’ It’s not central to their lives and it’s boring to me. So I’m looking for committed people.”
I know death is inevitable and I know that all of these heroes of mine will die. I know that I’ll likely live to see it happen for each one of them. So who is going to keep me going? Who is going to continue to put out work that inspires me the way that they have and continue to? I don’t have an answer and that’s a very troubling prospect.