Posted by purplemary54 on January 18, 2016
I told you I was afraid to look at the news.
At least it wasn’t cancer this time.
What the holy hell is going on?
Glenn Frey’s death today at 67 from complications of several illnesses is just kind of stunning. I know people die. I know I had no personal relationship with any of these artists, actors, and musicians. But goddamn, this hurts.
Celebrity deaths always feel a little bit like you’re losing someone close, someone in the family. Because the movies and music and art and words they create become part of your life. Your memories are entwined with theirs. They help you express emotions and dreams that you might not be able to share with anyone otherwise.
I’m not ashamed to admit I really enjoy the Eagles. Their work could seem superficial and shallow, but they were tapping into the psyche of a place and time–specifically, Southern California in the 1970s. Superficial and shallow came with the territory. But so did quiet desperation and unnamed fear. So did boredom and nihilism and anger. So did happiness and sex and love. So did greed and selfishness. Glenn Frey was the happy party boy turned business mogul. His music always reflected many facets. Sure, his style was mainstream and Top Forty to the core, but that doesn’t make it less skilled or entertaining. And the Eagles were always a huge part of my life; I was raised on this music. My childhood memories combined with the fact that they understood my home here in SoCal better than just about anyone else makes Frey’s death really hit home.