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just one thing.
(sent to both O&S and IGTC)
Like many of you, I'm finding it very hard to put my words down about this.
So I apologize if this is a bit incoherent.
As I found out yesterday, I spent part of the evening talking to Who fans,
people that I have become friends with through this common interest of ours.
It was hard to carry on a conversation as there is just so much shock going
It was raining in NYC last night. I wanted to go home and go to sleep, but
I had an audition I had to make and my girlfriend and I had tickets for
Love, Janis. I got on the subway and quickly wrote down a few words about
John. I did the audition and then, against my better judgment, went to see
the show. I thought maybe it might do me more good than just going home. A
great show, but every time I looked at the bass player, I had to look away
and choke back a few tears. I thought about John's fingers and the way I
could never follow them across the fretboard. I could barely concentrate.
I had so many thoughts in my head. Wondering about what Pete and Roger were
feeling. Wondering about the fate of the tour. Wondering about the timing
of this whole thing. I'm not a big fan of religion, but you'd have to think
that some kind of higher power had a say in this when someone dies the night
before a tour starts. And in a sick way, I'm kind of thankful that he died
when he did. I can't imagine knowing that the Who went out there and
displayed their 2002 prowess for all to see and then had to cut it short
because he died a night or two into the tour. And then I started wondering
whether he would have died if he had made it into the tour. I know that our
bodies have a plan for us ages before they actually take shape, but you have
to wonder. I continued watching the show. They talked about Monterey. I
couldn't even look up.
I thought about how it almost seemed like some weird kind of prophesy. The
night before the tour. Expectations across the board were high. Fans were
psyched. Critics were ecstatic. Pete wrote a beautiful diary message
talking about how good the band sounded and how everything was looking up.
We were on the verge of something really, really beautiful. Maybe it was
meant to be all a dream in our minds. I don't know if that makes sense.
The show ended. The house music played Won't Get Fooled Again. I went
I laid in bed and I thought about you guys.
I thought about Bjorn and how, just a few messages before Marc's one
announcing the death to O&S, he had proclaimed (for the nth time) that John
was his hero. I thought about Alan, Trish, Lauren, Charles, Jacqueline,
Billy and so many others who really planned their summers- their lives -
around this tour. I thought about every message I've read on these boards
since I first hit the 'net in 1995 and how much each of your stories have
really meant to me. I thought about our community and how much I've really
come to welcome your names flashing across my screen.
And because of that, I send my deepest love and concern and condolences to
everybody on these lists. We'll continue to grieve here because it's our
home. John was one of a kind and we'll never forget his place in the world
as the best bassist in rock n' roll.
When my grandfather died, I imagined him up there eating a great big plate
of pasta with Sinatra. My girlfriend woke me at around 2 AM and asked,
"what do you think he's doing right now?" I said "he's probably piss drunk
with Keith." That's the way I like to think about these things.