Musician Apocalypse

2016 continues to cut a brutal swath through music. Man, when Lemmy died, on Christmas Eve, I had a bad premonition. After all, I was just recovering from the passing away of New York Philharmonic conductor Kurt Masur the week before. But how was I to know that four months later, by my unofficial count, eleven more moderate to well-known musicians would be called home, wherever “home” may be.

January saw the demise of Pierre Boulez (he was a very famous conductor – I probably have more CDs of music he produced than any other), David Bowie, and Glenn Frey. February had Maurice White, founder of Earth Wind and Fire. I wasn’t too familiar with him (though I knew the songs he wrote and sung), but the wife was. March claimed George Martin, who, it must be confessed, led a long, long life to age 90, Keith Emerson (“ooooh, what a lucky man, he was!”), Frank Sinatra Jr, and Steve “Seven Bridges Road” Young. Yesterday saw the deaths of Lonnie Mack, a guitarist who influenced all the guitarists who’ve influenced me, and, of course, Prince.

Now, I never was into Prince. He was more of a chick thing, I think. Perhaps I heard two or three of his songs start to finish. He wasn’t really my thing, nor was he the thing of the people I grew up and hung out with. But I respect him as a musician, writer, and overall promoter, even if I considered him a little too weirdly effeminate. Despite the whole getting tons of women thing.

Can we have a moratorium on musician deaths, 2016? Please? I’m fearing for the surviving members of Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, and Black Sabbath here, okay?