A really great genre-blending singer/songwriter named Chris Whitley died last weekend. He was someone whose music I really dug. His record Dirt Floor was a catalyst for a lot of the things I've been doing on the dulcimer lately. I was even considering his tune Indian Summer for the next record.
One of the things I found rather depressing is the picture that develops if you read between the lines. Not always the cleanest living rock star, he seemed to avoid, or negotiate most of the trappings of rock startdom. His was still a young man of 45, with much more to say. Whitley died in the home of a close friend, stopped mid-tour by the penultimate stages of lung cancer. The family speaks highly and lovingly of his voyage into the next world, and the angels down here that made his final days bearable. They put I nice face on it, but it occurs to me the guy died there because he probably didn't have medical insurance.
so you wanna be a rock in roll star...
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
perhaps it's good not to have insurance in such a case. lung cancer in late stage is hard to beat, adn i'd rather die with friends, being loved into the next world, than in the hospital, alone, afraid and ignored.
well, you may be completely right about that. I am quick to plead ignorance on this. But my point (aside from the loss of someone who's music I really revered), was that we live in a country where doing what you love, music or otherwise, often means forgoing proper health insurance. And that is a crime.
Post a Comment