ROCKER 50.2 —————– And it wasn’t until she really tried to stop sniffing white that things really got out of hand. Even though she always had that ‘I just saw the devil peering at me from behind a tree expression’ while under the influence, she really was a talented skinny little junkie. So yeah, she died as was destined. Or maybe she, like all the other dead 27 year old rockstars, did make a crossroads deal with the devil. Who knows… So here is what I think the deal with this is: that if we all use our talents, that kind of thing doesn’t affect us. It doesn’t matter what evil plots, forces, or even self sabotage attempts come into play. What’s ours is ours alive … or dead. So, did the young dead fulfill their destinies? I believe so. Just don’t go sniffing glue to try and make someone else’s destiny the story of your life. Unto each, his own.
ROCKER 50.1 —————– Ever wonder what it would be like if you lost the one thing that makes you who you are? So as it turns out, love of my life John Mayer had throat surgery a while back and I keep worrying that he won’t sound the same anymore. Like his voice won’t be as smoky smooth; something, I believe made him so goshdarn attractive – musically speaking of course. Would Pavarotti have had that boom of a voice had he lost about a hundred kilos? Would Barry White or Susan Boyle for that matter? And B.B. King, what would the world of blues have become if – God forbid – arthritis or a grim finger snatcher had afflicted the darling guy? And I bet that if Buble stopped smoking, he’d sound like a girly version of Dean Martin, from whom he gets so much inspiration. For some, maybe, losing everything is what gets them to where destiny intended them to be. Take other love of my life Jimi Hendrix for example; he had to die before he got the recognotion he trully deserved. I mean, nothing beats a posthumuous rock n roll hall of fame induction. And as they say imitation is the highest form of flattery. I agree because Jimi is by far one of the most covered musicians of all time. Talk about a musical poltergeist invasion. Now let’s talk Whinehouse. I gather that the absence of drugs in her life really messed things up for her. It affected her performances, the way she looked, her marriage even.
ABOUT JIMI AND BEING DEAD It is too bad that I can’t die and go the stoney heaven … or hell in which all rockstars reside, jam with them for a while, ask them if they died intentionally. Ask what it’s really like up there, and what was so bad down here that they would rather die young and miss out on all that life had to offer them. Ask Jimi what it felt like to be so worshipped for his tormented lyrics and left hand-up side down playing technique? Because we all know it was not the voice that got him recognized. He had things to say. He said them. But his guitar had a lot more to do with his making it through. But what if I could. I would write a story that started thus; my day with the ghost of Jimi Hendrix. It was back when black men would get killed just for being black. And this one, he showed the world that talent had nothing to do with skin color. This one created work that transcended race. His work was more spiritual than any church hyme I ever heard sang by a choir of prepubescent boys. He showed the world what being a Zeus was of the musical genre was.