Robin Williams - he was such an integral part of my childhood. I wept for hours. He also had a mythical feel about him - it wasn’t until he was gone that I realized he could leave this world.
And Anthony Bourdain. His loss is one that I find myself constantly mourning. I miss his voice and his impact on the world. He’s one of my biggest role models, and I find myself gravitating towards people who remind me of him. We lost him, but we can honor him by continuing his work - even if it’s just in small ways in our own neighborhoods and communities.
David Bowie’s death did me in. He was the hero of my late teens and twenties and remained an inspiration to me all my life. His artistry and endlessly generative creativity, his joyous embrace of difference…he was a liberating force and I miss him still. I made a Bowie playlist after he died and listen to it often in the car, singing along and remembering him. 💜
I find myself still really hurting about Carrie Fisher. I can't see her on screen without tearing up. She was just such a spark in every way. Her posthumous appearance in Rise of Skywalker nearly broke me.
So many meaningful people already mentioned here have been tough to lose - Bourdain, Sinead, Prince, Bowie, Tony Bennett, Robin Williams, Anne Bancroft - but I think most about the people that died tragically and far too young in my lifetime: River Phoenix, Heath Ledger, John Belushi, Michael Hutchence, and above all, Kurt Kobain.
I'd have to say Princess Diana. I had gotten up early to watch her wedding, of course, and even bought a Franklin Mint plate (remember those?) as a souvenir (never displayed, but stored in a box with several Diana books I had bought. I'm sure it's somewhere in my garage).
My daughter asked last night, as my husband and I were watching the second to last episode of The Crown, if I remembered where I was when she died, and: absolutely. On the couch, waiting for SNL to begin, watching the news turn progressively worse. And it surprises me that anyone who loved Diana, or cried over her death, would feel anything but love and support for Harry and Meghan. Loved Dodi suggesting that Diana move to California (even if the scene was made up, it was certainly a rumor in those days). They are living the life she could have had.
Petty died just after the week a close friend of mine his age was diagnosed with ALS, and I spent that whole day on the couch, crying. My friend was gone the next year.
Bowie and Prince. George Michael. A lot of my musical heroes gone in quick succession. I felt really old that year. Dolores O’Riordan crushed me—I loved her voice, as well as Sinead’s. Comedians too—still not over Carlin. Robin. Judy Tenuta. And, of course, Gilda. I remember reading her memoir after she passed and thinking she was so hopeful. Gene Wilder’s death was also sad and his memoir was so odd to me—the writing didn’t seem to flow great (maybe he was already failing) but, at the same time, it was like he was in the room, talking with me. And that didn’t suck. Bourdain—so tragic. Taylor Negron. I remember being so sad over Stevie Ray Vaughan’s death because he had gotten sober and was reaching out to those sick and suffering at his concerts. He had a brand new lease.
Anthony Bourdain. He was the guy I wanted to come to every dinner party/party I could ever imagine having. He would have been such a great guy to travel with. And, can you imagine the late night conversations!
The British poet Benjamin Zephaniah died yesterday. I'm still trying to work out why his passing moved me so - I am not sure I really realised how much I liked his work, and him himself. Reading the obituaries and tributes, it's clear his work captured so much about British life, the experience of immigrants and the children of immigrants, injustice and racism, but also love - for people and words and ways of being. He won people's hearts and became a sort of national treasure: he was magnetic and innovative and charming in an uncompromising way. I really recommend seeking out some of his stuff on YouTube, whether you're familiar with his work or not. I guess I fear when someone like that is gone that that special way of bringing meaningful and important stuff direct to people's hearts is gone too.
Kurt Cobain. I was surprised how hard his passing hit me. Only John Lennon comes close. I was not a huge Nirvana fan at first, but I’d become one by 1994. Not only had I come to appreciate the depth of his songwriting, but he seemed like “one of us” - covering obscure Scottish artists on MTV, getting Steve Albini to produce In Utero, giving props to The Raincoats in his liner notes. At the same time, everyone knew about the drug problems, the turbulent home life and the suicide attempts. In the end, the demons won. I remember going to see The Raincoats open for Liz Phair that weekend. Ana da Silva dedicated “The Void” to Kurt, and you could tell she was tearing up. I remember thinking, possibly naively: if he had only hopped on a plane and seen this, maybe he would have stayed a little longer.
SHANE!!! Shane McGowan of The Pogues just passed, and I'm crushed — even though it's incredible he lived this long, to 65, given his relentlessly abusive treatment of his body. So glad I got to see him a number of times over the years. You just haven't lived 'til you've gotten a concussion at a Pogues or Popes show that starts 3-4 hours late because Shane is too loaded to show up.
John Lennon's death had an enormous effect on me as a grade schooler. I was and am a huge Beatles fan, and John was my favorite for decades.
2016 was the worst: starting with David Bowie, my idol-priest-god?, moving on to Alan Rickman and Prince and more. I made this giant cardboard art piece thingy: the Robot that ate 2016, with the various deceased luminaries pictured, along with the results of the recent presidential election. Drunken adults and gleeful children beat the shit out of the 2016 Robot with baseball bats and flung it in the New Year's Eve bonfire.
As I age, now that I know what it's like to *almost* lose a husband to a brain injury, I am increasingly crushed on behalf of the remaining partners of deceased celebs. Yoko. Laurie Anderson. Even Courtney Love.
Otis Redding. As a Jewish girl growing up in a white suburb, I was about 13 when I discovered the many black musicians who existed outside my sphere. Redding's music hit every nerve in my angsty body. His death coincided with my discovery of him so I felt both gain and loss at the same time.
Just corrected myself—John Lennon was murdered 43 years ago, not 33!
Anthony Bourdain's passing crushed me. The way he passed, his life, his struggle to find peace. I felt it.
John Prine - such a down home guy with energy and passion. It was an early Covid death and made the pandemic all too real.
Robin Williams - he was such an integral part of my childhood. I wept for hours. He also had a mythical feel about him - it wasn’t until he was gone that I realized he could leave this world.
And Anthony Bourdain. His loss is one that I find myself constantly mourning. I miss his voice and his impact on the world. He’s one of my biggest role models, and I find myself gravitating towards people who remind me of him. We lost him, but we can honor him by continuing his work - even if it’s just in small ways in our own neighborhoods and communities.
David Bowie’s death did me in. He was the hero of my late teens and twenties and remained an inspiration to me all my life. His artistry and endlessly generative creativity, his joyous embrace of difference…he was a liberating force and I miss him still. I made a Bowie playlist after he died and listen to it often in the car, singing along and remembering him. 💜
I find myself still really hurting about Carrie Fisher. I can't see her on screen without tearing up. She was just such a spark in every way. Her posthumous appearance in Rise of Skywalker nearly broke me.
So many meaningful people already mentioned here have been tough to lose - Bourdain, Sinead, Prince, Bowie, Tony Bennett, Robin Williams, Anne Bancroft - but I think most about the people that died tragically and far too young in my lifetime: River Phoenix, Heath Ledger, John Belushi, Michael Hutchence, and above all, Kurt Kobain.
I'd have to say Princess Diana. I had gotten up early to watch her wedding, of course, and even bought a Franklin Mint plate (remember those?) as a souvenir (never displayed, but stored in a box with several Diana books I had bought. I'm sure it's somewhere in my garage).
My daughter asked last night, as my husband and I were watching the second to last episode of The Crown, if I remembered where I was when she died, and: absolutely. On the couch, waiting for SNL to begin, watching the news turn progressively worse. And it surprises me that anyone who loved Diana, or cried over her death, would feel anything but love and support for Harry and Meghan. Loved Dodi suggesting that Diana move to California (even if the scene was made up, it was certainly a rumor in those days). They are living the life she could have had.
I still tear up when I think about how Kristy MacColl died. So tragic, and she was such a talent.
When a Star Dies
It's hard
On us
When a star
Supernovas
The flash blasts us
with thousands of bits
Of the relationshps we had built
With them
Whether acknowledged or not
The life rays we received from them
Resonated in our souls
Only because our souls
Resonated at the same frequencies
So we all
Have the innate power
To self resonate.
Birds sing to one another
Because they already knew
Some of the melodies
And were able to return the songs,
Or new interpretations,
Breathing them back
Into the air
So become a bird
And sing your notes.
From A Reflection on Kimbra's Substack
Petty died just after the week a close friend of mine his age was diagnosed with ALS, and I spent that whole day on the couch, crying. My friend was gone the next year.
2016 was torture (for SO MANY reasons…)
Bowie and Prince. George Michael. A lot of my musical heroes gone in quick succession. I felt really old that year. Dolores O’Riordan crushed me—I loved her voice, as well as Sinead’s. Comedians too—still not over Carlin. Robin. Judy Tenuta. And, of course, Gilda. I remember reading her memoir after she passed and thinking she was so hopeful. Gene Wilder’s death was also sad and his memoir was so odd to me—the writing didn’t seem to flow great (maybe he was already failing) but, at the same time, it was like he was in the room, talking with me. And that didn’t suck. Bourdain—so tragic. Taylor Negron. I remember being so sad over Stevie Ray Vaughan’s death because he had gotten sober and was reaching out to those sick and suffering at his concerts. He had a brand new lease.
All gone now, and way too soon.🤍
Anthony Bourdain. He was the guy I wanted to come to every dinner party/party I could ever imagine having. He would have been such a great guy to travel with. And, can you imagine the late night conversations!
The British poet Benjamin Zephaniah died yesterday. I'm still trying to work out why his passing moved me so - I am not sure I really realised how much I liked his work, and him himself. Reading the obituaries and tributes, it's clear his work captured so much about British life, the experience of immigrants and the children of immigrants, injustice and racism, but also love - for people and words and ways of being. He won people's hearts and became a sort of national treasure: he was magnetic and innovative and charming in an uncompromising way. I really recommend seeking out some of his stuff on YouTube, whether you're familiar with his work or not. I guess I fear when someone like that is gone that that special way of bringing meaningful and important stuff direct to people's hearts is gone too.
Kurt Cobain. I was surprised how hard his passing hit me. Only John Lennon comes close. I was not a huge Nirvana fan at first, but I’d become one by 1994. Not only had I come to appreciate the depth of his songwriting, but he seemed like “one of us” - covering obscure Scottish artists on MTV, getting Steve Albini to produce In Utero, giving props to The Raincoats in his liner notes. At the same time, everyone knew about the drug problems, the turbulent home life and the suicide attempts. In the end, the demons won. I remember going to see The Raincoats open for Liz Phair that weekend. Ana da Silva dedicated “The Void” to Kurt, and you could tell she was tearing up. I remember thinking, possibly naively: if he had only hopped on a plane and seen this, maybe he would have stayed a little longer.
SHANE!!! Shane McGowan of The Pogues just passed, and I'm crushed — even though it's incredible he lived this long, to 65, given his relentlessly abusive treatment of his body. So glad I got to see him a number of times over the years. You just haven't lived 'til you've gotten a concussion at a Pogues or Popes show that starts 3-4 hours late because Shane is too loaded to show up.
John Lennon's death had an enormous effect on me as a grade schooler. I was and am a huge Beatles fan, and John was my favorite for decades.
2016 was the worst: starting with David Bowie, my idol-priest-god?, moving on to Alan Rickman and Prince and more. I made this giant cardboard art piece thingy: the Robot that ate 2016, with the various deceased luminaries pictured, along with the results of the recent presidential election. Drunken adults and gleeful children beat the shit out of the 2016 Robot with baseball bats and flung it in the New Year's Eve bonfire.
As I age, now that I know what it's like to *almost* lose a husband to a brain injury, I am increasingly crushed on behalf of the remaining partners of deceased celebs. Yoko. Laurie Anderson. Even Courtney Love.
Otis Redding. As a Jewish girl growing up in a white suburb, I was about 13 when I discovered the many black musicians who existed outside my sphere. Redding's music hit every nerve in my angsty body. His death coincided with my discovery of him so I felt both gain and loss at the same time.