Springtime for Reaper
Happy early spring in the Northeastern US with lots of shiny sun and warmth aplenty. Flowers bubbling up out of the mud and all that. Soon it’ll be time for the bunny to come out of the tomb and bring the eggs to heaven and then we’ll have ramps and asparagus and spring onions and there will be much rejoicing.
Of course, the whole death thing keeps getting in the way.
Welcome to 2010, the year of death. Of course every year is a year of death in fact every day is a day of death for somebody or something from the person you admired to your dear relative to the head of lettuce you murderously shredded into what you called salad even though it was just a bowl of lettuce and some creepy chemical compound called “bottled salad dressing”, a vegetable’s embalming fluid yum yum yummy.
2010 started with a friend of mine dying and he was younger than me and it was out of left field so we call that one a tragedy. It’s about to continue with a beloved old aunt-in-law who will finally get to find out the answer we’re all waiting for after 94 years on this planet so we call that sad but not a tragedy especially since same beloved aunt has been saying for a while that she doesn’t know why she’s still here not in a complaining way or a self pitying way she just seems to be surprised to wake up every morning and now it looks like soon she won’t have that duty anymore so it is not tragic. It is still sad. I had the honor of being at her birthday party a few weeks back and it was a happy afternoon of plastic cup wine drinking and laughter at an ancient table in an ancient Brooklyn house with cracks in the walls that I swear was held together by this aunt’s life force; I think the upstairs renters better run because as soon as she leaves this veil of tears I think that whole place will go with the old furniture and the wonderful old pictures and the statues of saints and the cracked old radio that spoke to her every day.
Sandwiched in between we have the death of one Alex Chilton, pop star to the unpopular, hero to the rock and roll geeks, virtual friend of the lonely. I never got to see Alex Chilton or Big Star and while I wasn’t a rabid fan it’s still a bummer. The new Big Star included Jon Auer and Ken Stringfellow of the Posies and I had the opportunity to see Jon Auer do a solo set opening for Mould back in January. Jon did Big Star’s "Thirteen" and it was beautiful. Even a little funny because he substituted "Nickelback" for "Paint it Black". “Thirteen” is one of those songs that I call a “great rock song” because the thing about a great rock song is that when you hear it as a young person you identify with it and when you hear it as an older person it makes you remember how your life was, or maybe how you thought it was and how it can never be that way again.
I had my chance to see the 21st century version of Big Star, to be sure. They played in Brooklyn a few months back. I said "eh, it's on a weeknight, it's out in Williamsburg, it'll be a two hour commute home via public transit and there's nowhere to park out there so driving is not an option, I'll catch them next time, maybe they'll play in the city." I have to get my priorities straight. Ain't the first time this happened. I kept putting off plans to go see Les Paul who played every Monday night a short walk from my office because you know, it's Monday. We know how that turned out. Same way it turns out for everyone. It occurs to me that it is a sign of my advancing years that the cause of death of musicians I care about is transitioning from OD to Old Age.
A friend of mine told me how his dad (who is in his 80s) mentions more and more frequently that a friend of his has died. It is an obvious but unsettling fact that the older you get, the more dead people you know. He said it doesn’t even seem to faze his father anymore. He just accepts it quietly. I wonder if I’ll ever get to be the same way or if I’ll continue to be pissed off and sad every time a death touches my life. It feels like death is everywhere right now and I can’t even dodge it my reading these days. This morning I’m reading the 14th canto of the Kalevala (the what? Oh go look it up) and it’s all about this poor bastard who is just trying to get a little somethin-somethin on the side, see and first he has to ski cross-country and catch this demonic elk, then he has to capture and tame this demonic horse and then finally he has to go shoot a swan in the river of Tuoni, which is more or less the Finnish branch for the river Styx (not the band, Mr. Roboto). So of course he gets the tough animals and then he goes after a stinkin’ swan and gets offed. Didn’t see that one coming. You never do, I guess, though I once was chased by a swan next to a lake in Zurich so I can tell you they can be nasty creatures.
So what to do when confronted with all these endings? Nothing to do except enjoy this wonderful spring weather while it lasts and drink in every positive moment. Look out for the swans though. They’re nasty and they’re nipping closer to your heels than you think.
Of course, the whole death thing keeps getting in the way.
Welcome to 2010, the year of death. Of course every year is a year of death in fact every day is a day of death for somebody or something from the person you admired to your dear relative to the head of lettuce you murderously shredded into what you called salad even though it was just a bowl of lettuce and some creepy chemical compound called “bottled salad dressing”, a vegetable’s embalming fluid yum yum yummy.
2010 started with a friend of mine dying and he was younger than me and it was out of left field so we call that one a tragedy. It’s about to continue with a beloved old aunt-in-law who will finally get to find out the answer we’re all waiting for after 94 years on this planet so we call that sad but not a tragedy especially since same beloved aunt has been saying for a while that she doesn’t know why she’s still here not in a complaining way or a self pitying way she just seems to be surprised to wake up every morning and now it looks like soon she won’t have that duty anymore so it is not tragic. It is still sad. I had the honor of being at her birthday party a few weeks back and it was a happy afternoon of plastic cup wine drinking and laughter at an ancient table in an ancient Brooklyn house with cracks in the walls that I swear was held together by this aunt’s life force; I think the upstairs renters better run because as soon as she leaves this veil of tears I think that whole place will go with the old furniture and the wonderful old pictures and the statues of saints and the cracked old radio that spoke to her every day.
Sandwiched in between we have the death of one Alex Chilton, pop star to the unpopular, hero to the rock and roll geeks, virtual friend of the lonely. I never got to see Alex Chilton or Big Star and while I wasn’t a rabid fan it’s still a bummer. The new Big Star included Jon Auer and Ken Stringfellow of the Posies and I had the opportunity to see Jon Auer do a solo set opening for Mould back in January. Jon did Big Star’s "Thirteen" and it was beautiful. Even a little funny because he substituted "Nickelback" for "Paint it Black". “Thirteen” is one of those songs that I call a “great rock song” because the thing about a great rock song is that when you hear it as a young person you identify with it and when you hear it as an older person it makes you remember how your life was, or maybe how you thought it was and how it can never be that way again.
I had my chance to see the 21st century version of Big Star, to be sure. They played in Brooklyn a few months back. I said "eh, it's on a weeknight, it's out in Williamsburg, it'll be a two hour commute home via public transit and there's nowhere to park out there so driving is not an option, I'll catch them next time, maybe they'll play in the city." I have to get my priorities straight. Ain't the first time this happened. I kept putting off plans to go see Les Paul who played every Monday night a short walk from my office because you know, it's Monday. We know how that turned out. Same way it turns out for everyone. It occurs to me that it is a sign of my advancing years that the cause of death of musicians I care about is transitioning from OD to Old Age.
A friend of mine told me how his dad (who is in his 80s) mentions more and more frequently that a friend of his has died. It is an obvious but unsettling fact that the older you get, the more dead people you know. He said it doesn’t even seem to faze his father anymore. He just accepts it quietly. I wonder if I’ll ever get to be the same way or if I’ll continue to be pissed off and sad every time a death touches my life. It feels like death is everywhere right now and I can’t even dodge it my reading these days. This morning I’m reading the 14th canto of the Kalevala (the what? Oh go look it up) and it’s all about this poor bastard who is just trying to get a little somethin-somethin on the side, see and first he has to ski cross-country and catch this demonic elk, then he has to capture and tame this demonic horse and then finally he has to go shoot a swan in the river of Tuoni, which is more or less the Finnish branch for the river Styx (not the band, Mr. Roboto). So of course he gets the tough animals and then he goes after a stinkin’ swan and gets offed. Didn’t see that one coming. You never do, I guess, though I once was chased by a swan next to a lake in Zurich so I can tell you they can be nasty creatures.
So what to do when confronted with all these endings? Nothing to do except enjoy this wonderful spring weather while it lasts and drink in every positive moment. Look out for the swans though. They’re nasty and they’re nipping closer to your heels than you think.
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