I was a senior in high school, meeting a bunch of my friends on September 18, 1970, to go into Boston to attend a Credence Clearwater Revival concert. When we all met, one of my friends turned to me and said, "you see what Hendrix did?"
I had not seen what Hendrix did. But what Jimi Hendrix had done was taken an overdose of sleeping pills and -- in the grand tradition of the movie "This is Spinal Tap" choked on his own regurgitation.
For a 17-year-old high school kid about to embark on one of life's great adventures -- a night in Boston without any kind of adult supervision, to see the hottest group in the USA at the time -- Jimi Hendrix's death was a glancing blow. He certainly wasn't the first rock star in my memory to die under somewhat nefarious circumstances. Brian Jones of the Rolling Stones had him beaten by a year ... July 3, 1969, when he drowned in his swimming pool at the age of 27. Abuse of drugs and alcohol had enlarged both his heart and is liver.
But it was stunning nonetheless. Here was a guy on top of his world. He was one of the great guitarists and showmen of the rock era, and his rendition of the National Anthem at Woodstock -- something that I had just seen for the first time just months before when the movie came out -- was already the stuff of legends.
To see him struck down, and in such an undignified way to boot, made a profound impression on me. I may have, from time to time, done a little weed in my younger days, but visceral mental images of the likes of Hendrix, Jones, and two other iconic rockers -- Janis Joplin and Jim Morrison -- who also died within that same year's period of time were enough to scare me away from any serious, or chronic, drug or alcohol use.
Ironically all four of the aforementioned rockers died at the age of 27, which -- obviously became kind of a dangerous age for those who indulged in the three vices of our era (sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll).
Sadly, these were not the last four rockers to die from drugs, either directly or indirectly. The list is staggering. And beyond the simple tragedy of anyone that young dying due to his or her addictions, the loss to humanity of what these tremendous artists had to offer is equally tragic.
Whitney Houston is the latest. Last year, it was Amy Winehouse. I cannot say I was the biggest fan of either, though it was obvious both had tremendous talent, and the love their fans had for them was genuine. And besides, it hardly matters, at times like this, whether you like Whitney Houston or not. What matters is that she was only 48, and despite her enormous talent and fame, lived a tortured life because of her addictions.
I remember the 2002 Super Bowl, when U2 sang "MLK" and "Where the Streets Have No Name" with a scroll of all the 9/11 victims in the background. Very moving ... very meaningful.
I feel like doing that tonight. You could probably fill five blogs with the names of musicians who have died from drugs, again either directly or indirectly.
I'm of that generation that thought it was cool the way groups like the Beatles related their experiences with LSD through their songs. I loved songs like "Tomorrow Never Knows" and "She Said, She Said," that -- as I came to find out -- were directly related to acid trips that John Lennon took in the mid 1960s.
And I was certainly one of many of my era who thought "thank God for LSD." It didn't mean I had to take it, but it was certainly responsible for some great music.
But was it? Did the condition of the artists when these songs were germinating help or get in the way? That's the age-old argument, and I've had it with many people over the last 30 or so years.
But when you think of someone as beautiful, and as beautifully talented, as Whitney Houston, lying dead at the age of 48, you can't help but think that even if drugs don't end up being the official cause of death, you're inclined to do the math. And you're inclined to say to yourself, "there's your answer." If drugs keep robbing us of our musical and cultural icons, whether they're Billie Holliday, Judy Garland, Lenny Bruce, Kurt Cobain, John Belushi, Dennis Wilson, Keith Moon or John Entwistle, then how can anyone claim that the drugs these people took did anything other than rob them of live ... and us of their talent?
I no longer think what I thought back in the late 1960s.
But if anyone needs a reminder of just how destructive substance abuse, or addictions, can be, here's a list of some of my more noteworthy chemical casualties. These were people who meant something to me, for various reasons. They're not all musicians but that's OK for today. They're all connected.
And by all means, feel free to click onto the link I've provided for "Where The Streets Have No Name" and listen while you're reading.
Jack Kerouac was a beat-generation author whose book "On the Road" was required reading for millions of people who came of age at the same time I did. In fact, I had to read the book my senior year in high school, right around the same time both Hendrix and Janis died. He died in 1969 of cirrhosis of the liver due to a lifetime of heavy drinking.
Judy Garland. She was Dorothy ... the very definition of wide-eyed, heartland America innocence. If there's a more iconic children's movie lead in the history of motion pictures, I'd be hard-pressed to tell you who. But because of the grueling schedule that went with the filming of the "Wizard of Oz," she was given artificial stimulants to keep her awake; and artificial depressants to bring her down. She was 49 when she died, never having completely freed herself of her addictions.
Elvis Presley. Look up his cause of death sometime. He could have started his own pharmaceutical company with what was in his body when he died.
Sid Vicious. Put me down as a fan of the early punk stuff, because if it did nothing else, it gave disco a swift kick out the door, and injected some life into a genre that was close to collapsing under the weight of its own excesses. And the Sex Pistols were certainly huge contributors. Heroin, among other things did him in.
Len Bias. Oh, to be a Celtics fan in 1986. The C's had just won the NBA championship, and Red Auerbach had just bamboozled some poor team into trading him a draft pick that turned out to be Len Bias, the fabulously gifted forward from the University of Maryland. Bias was the guy who was going to be the link between Larry Bird and the next generation. Only the day after Bias was drafted, he died of a cocaine overdose.
Mike Bloomfield. This guy was a tremendous blues guitarist who died in 1981 of some unspecified drug overdose.
John Bonham. Led Zeppelin, according to book I read a while ago about Laurel Canyon, was the No. 1 party band to pass through the LA rock scene. Apparently, no woman was safe when Led Zep came to town. The boys -- all four of them -- had gargantuan appetites for sex and drugs and booze and whatever else came their way, and their off-stage exploits were just about as legendary as "Stairway to Heaven" and "Dazed and Confused." One night, though, Bonham became very dazed and confused, consuming 40 shots of vodka, and then doing the "Spinal Tap" in his sleep. He did not come down for breakfast the next morning.
Paul Butterfield. As in "Paul Butterfield Blues Band." As in "died of drug-related heart failure."
Jeanine Deckers. I know. You're saying who? Well, she was the Singing Nun, who came out with that song "Dominique" in the 1960s. She was only 52 she she killed herself via barbiturates and alcohol.
Brian Epstein. None of the fun we had in the 1960s would have ever happened had Epstein, who was gay and who worked in a record store, not fallen for John Lennon after seeing the Beatles perform in their head-to-toe leather outfits one day. He worked day and night on behalf of the Beatles after that, and he was responsible for a good deal of the early success that just snowballed and became Beatlemania. But his was a sad life, too, and it took its toll. He died of an accidental overdose of sleeping pills.
Chris Farley and John Belushi. What's more to say? Belushi may have been one of the most talented comedians/actors of our generation ... and Farley wasn't too far behind. They both had a penchant of creating characters that connected strongly with us. Belushi's Samurai Warrior ... Brilliant. Farley's Matt Foley, or his nervous talk show host who interviewed Paul McCartney? Inspired. Drugs claimed both their lives.
Lowell George. I count "Dixie Chicken" as one of the great sing-along songs whenever it comes on the radio. I don't care who's watching. I'll just blast it to the top of my lungs. And Little Feat ... great band. One night, George collapsed in his hotel room and died. They called it an unspecified drug overdose.
Richard Manuel and Rick Danko. God, how could you not love The Band? I'll tell you how much I love The Band. The day of my father's funeral, after we got back from the restaurant where the post-service meal was held, I found "The Last Waltz" on TV and watched it from beginning to end. That's how much love The Band. Manuel and Danko were such integral parts of that group. In fact, in between long stints of the group's inactivity, Danko and Manuel used to tour together. Manuel fought with alcohol and drugs all his life, but relapsed once too often and committed suicide. Danko died of drug-related heart failure, just like John Entwistle and so many others.
As I said before, I could go on and on. The list is endless. The carnage is staggering. And even if Whitney Houston's not really my No. 1 cup of tea, she has now joined this damned list of drug casualties, just as Amy Winehouse did a year earlier.
And I'm reminded of another line, from another song, sung so many years ago: "When will they ever learn? When will they ever learn."
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