Just Because They Were Suicidal Doesn’t Mean You Have To Be - #7
A reaction to the suicides of Chris Cornell and Chester Bennington. Refreshing tips and insight on flipping a negative into a positive during this unsure, dark time.
Go on … it’s okay. Come on you mouth-watering, googly eyed insatiable music feens with raging boners for ears. Don’t be afraid. Be free, feel free to enjoy audible art from yesteryear, like, Sound Garden and Linkin Park again. Know, that just because they cut their timelines short doesn’t mean you have to suffer the same way ... these artists deserve to be celebrated, slowly, savored like a fine box of wine. So start listening to them on random and repeat along with a variety of badass tunes from the past. And by bad, of course I mean good. Chug down the sweet sounds of Chuck Berry and Prodigy as you temporarily, and I mean fucking temporarily, put down your Ed Sheeran and Cardi B. Your music taste buds are in the mood for something old, new and slightly blue.
It’s been a rough year for music. Especially rock music. It’s been a rough year for all of us. T-rump is straight up taking a idiotic-irrational-bigotry power diarrhea dump all over us, racial relations are rapidly boiling over on high; hollow, mumble rap is topping the charts being compared to the gawd damn Beatles and Brother Jimi Hendrix and rad rockers and remarkable rappers, are passing left and right, on top of that suicide rates are currently up 60% . I have just the cure for you. How about The fucking Cure or Arrested Development or Joy Division? Do what I do...stop being butt-hurt and honor and kick up your heels for these and other sometimes mo’ better pre-Y2K wonderful artists and luxuriate in their music stat.
It’s a bummer for reals, when you listen to these recently passed Masters of Sound, it could really put you in funk and most definitely not a P-Funk. Especially in the case of Chris Cornell and Chester Bennington, the recently fallen lead singers of Sound Garden and Linkin Park. They were the background music to my existence and I grew up listening to their vocals on KROQ. They were in their prime then and selfishly, that’s how I’d like to remember them now. Laser focusing in on what they’ve been through in their lives, the parallel murder kiddie-porn ring conspiracy theories, their telling, haunting song lyrics and how or why they passed; it can drag you down into a sad emoji oblivion.
Yo, the same thing happened to me when Kurt Cobain, MJ and Prince died, I could not listen to their music. I could not even look at their album covers for quite a long, long while. Oy, I still have yet to really listen to an Amy Winehouse album from beginning to end, Back To Black, makes me feel blacker than her ‘version’ of black, and I am black. I am still in mourning, when it comes down to any of these people who have fondled my heart strings and it’s ri-cock-ulously hard to get my Rock Lobster-on to them or simply view these unforgettable idols without some serious eye leakage or feeling like someone did a triple spin kick right into my throbbing chest soul hole. And who wants to go through that. Why make yourself feel bad when you can feel good.
Whenever one of these virtuosos die of drugs or suicide, super fans such as I, are left deeply wounded, and just like when a loved one passes it is terribly hard to remember their radiance and invite them back to my present existence and everyday life without feeling emotionally mauled… without feeling beat. Of course, I didn’t know any of these people personally, but they have touched my life in such a way through the years, I felt like I did. We all feel like that on some level.
It’s painful to think we can never have it all. These beautiful ones, smashing their own pictures, these breathtaking deities who we think have it all, still commit suicide, or overdose on drugs and alcohol due to untreated deep rooted demons. If they were unhappy with their glasses full to the brim with blessings, with tons of Scrooge McDuck money, fame, all the hottest hottie bunnies to fuck, how can I be happy with with my half empty, crushed, pin-hole ridden, red plastic party cup, that contains my perpetually negative bank account, that last 20 pounds I have to lose, my mother’s inherent intimacy issues and a lover who looks like The Elephant Man’s double? How? I suppose … by accepting the fact that we are all human, and none of us are perfect. Even though we all strive for balance, none of us are exempt from the tragic ups and downs of life and there is no such thing as greener grass.
Unfortunately, it seems the higher we go, the bigger we are, the harder we fall and no one knows how much time we have left. All of it is ticking away. You could get hit by a bus today, or disintegrated by a nuclear North Korean missile, none of us know what ‘thing’ is going to take us out. You never know what will occur and happen to you that will surprisingly, overwhelmingly knock you on your ass and fill you with mind-fucking anger and woe. You never know what series of issues will have you blasting the volume of that little whispering suicide speaker in the back corner of your skull, amplifying it into a blaringly loud, aura-dissolving, blood-curdling scream that you find unbearable to contend with, and you find yourself staring at the ledge of a building, or a barrel of a gun, or down the neck of a bottle of Jack, or your Ginsu cutting knives, or a heroin needle, or your ceiling fan and your belt, saying ‘I should do it. It’s all too much. I need to do it’. Don’t do it. I speak from experience, knowing quite a few secretly suicidal people in my life (usually cookie cutter, 1%-er buddies who went to ivy league schools) and having sporadic suicidal moments myself, we are all ticking time bombs in between paying bills and attempting to be normal and fit in and be liked and get likes.
The same way most of us are a few paychecks away from being homeless, we are all one dreadful heartbreak-bankruptcy-busted-tire-smidgen-of-mental illness-or-deep-dark-unsettled-emotional-traumatic-trigger away from offing ourselves. Just imagine the 5 worst things that you think can happen to you. Okay, now imagine them all occurring in one day … or one hour. No one is immune to those feelings. We never really know what’s going on with the people we share our air with, or what is going to set us off. Hell, I barely know what’s going on with myself half the time or what’s going to get me going. I almost killed a man once for grabbing my ass. I was moving that day, with my also a 1%-er banana nut flake cereal killer BF and was on my period and I went full Mike Tyson on the ass grabber’s face. I bashed his Luis Guzman head into hamburger meat within seconds, with one fist. And get this, I never dropped my end of the couch. Pretty OG. I was going through a lot that day. That dude should have known better. The point is it’s extremely important that we take good care of ourselves, one another our bodies, minds, souls, our households and we stay present and focused on what truly matters. We need to figure out what moves us and makes us tick, what sets us off, apparently for me it’s ass grabbers, as we groove more and pound more through our way of life, as we smile more, laugh more, learn more, give more, live more and love more as much as possible … hopefully to the jams we love old and new.
To heal ourselves we must face what ails us. Sometimes we got to rip the band aid off and let the world blow on our grief gashes. While the pain is fresh, we need to delve into the paint of the artists we love. We need to keep our playlists popping with these guys, and anyone from yesterday’s jukebox and discotheques that you’re even vaguely curious about and spice up our audios and visuals of slightly retro music and art from the past.
Stop complaining about new music, when we have a plethora of old music to get off to. Cease the back-in-the-day stuff! We need to enhance and enjoy their gifts and appreciate our lives by headbanging, singing-a-long, moshing and booty-bumping and pop-locking to the electric shuffle vital sign soundtrack they have provided for us. It’s why they made music, for us to listen to. To understand them, to lift us up. Perhaps on some Jesus-Messiah level they absorbed the brunt of the ultimate case of the mopes, so we didn’t have to.
And for those of you who never had the joy of these artist making sweet balls deep love to your ear holes, now is the time. I’m also speaking directly to the haters and music snobs I worked with in Berkeley those bougie music connoisseurs, who treat and consume their collections like caviar; those folks who have repeatedly traded and purchased original White albums on vinyl, already having 6 unopened ones in their possession, in their ‘Ikea wall record / bookshelf’ collection...Go on, come on, you can stop calling Linkin Park, Stinkin’ Park and give Chester the props his voice deserves. Let’s allow the great artists from the past who have passed to bless our spirits again.
And while you're at it, bang out to some Al Jarreau, Prodigy and check out some Chuck Berry, they all passed this year too and deserve our respects as well. Go explore, indulge and listen to all that sad music of yesteryear, Amy, Kurt, MJ, Prince, and let your head re-absorb B-side Radiohead and Portishead, or whatever artist you desire. Just because they are sad doesn’t mean you have to be. You don’t have to become what you are listening to, learn from their mistakes or from their bleak messages. Place a positive spin on the music and apply it to your life. Besides, nothing makes you feel more lovely or empowered than being a growing light in the dark. While we are here, let’s shine bright.
If you or anybody you know is struggling with thoughts of suicide, call 1-800-273-8255, the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline number the same number and song featured and performed by the rapper Logic at 2017 VMA’s.
Peace and much love from a soul who understands.