Writings in the Sand

Let us... tell sad stories of the deaths of rock stars

Let us sit upon the ground and tell sad stories of the deaths of rock stars...*


Ric Ocasek of The Cars just died. It was a bit shocking, mostly because up until this past Sunday, when he died, I didn’t know he was 75. I suppose he was bound to be, but I hadn’t seen him in years so he was still young-ish in my memory. Eddie Money died, too. He was only 70. But he looked older.

It’s not a big shock when rock stars die, they do it all the time. These days, there are many rock stars who are dying because they’ve reached that age - the one past which few can continue if they’ve abused their bodies with sex, drugs and rock & roll for several decades (Keith Richards is the obvious exception that proves the rule). But these deaths are depressingly predictable and don’t really hit one with the same emotional impact as the deaths of rock stars did when I was young.

Back in my day, rock stars did not die of old age or natural causes. They died young. They died suddenly. One minute they were all vibrant rebellion and energy, the next they were an example that parents could use to support their opinion that rock & roll was an evil perpetrated upon the younger generation. My generation. Baby.

Our parents weren’t entirely wrong, some of those rockers were a very bad influence. I could listen to Janis all day, but no young woman should emulate her lifestyle. Drugs and alcohol took out far too many of our idols - Janis, Jim Morrison, Keith Moon, Jimi Hendrix - the list goes on and on. These senseless deaths were so at odds with their dynamic talents and stage presence. And we were all so young, then.

Nowadays, when a rock star dies at some age numbered in the 60s or 70s, it only reminds me that when I was young, they were young. The thought that the opposite is now true is equally as depressing as the news of their deaths.

*apologies to William Shakespeare