It was a Monday afternoon. I had just gotten out of class and arrived at the library to work on some homework. I met up with one of my friends and just started scrolling through Twitter, like I normally do.
People Magazine tweeted, “Tom Petty Found Unconscious In Full Cardiac Arrest.”
My heart started pounding, and my hands started shaking. I told my friend I had to go back up to my room for a while. Once I got to my room, I called my mom and texted my dad. I texted Jasmine, one of my closest friends who was feeling the same pain I did. It didn’t sink in for us completely at that moment. We were devastated, but we were so numb. No one had made an official statement yet, so we figured there may be an ounce of hope.
An hour and a half later, Rolling Stone announces, “Tom Petty, Hall of Famer whose work spanned more than 40 years, has died at the age of 66.”
The news went back and forth for the rest of the day; some saying he was alive, others not so much. His manager finally confirmed it late that night.
Another one of my favorite musicians was gone.
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Ever since I can remember, musician deaths have affected me deeply.
Some of the earliest memories I have are my parents telling me musicians I listened to had passed (super weird I know, but they were quite memorable). My dad telling me Layne Staley, lead singer of Alice in Chains had passed away. I can also remember my mom telling me about the deaths of Lisa “Left Eye” Lopes from TLC, Johnny Cash, and John Entwistle from The Who. Considering I was so young, most parents may not choose to tell their children about such morbid topics, but they knew how much music meant to me and were always open about hard things with me.
The first musician death that majorly affect me was when Amy Winehouse passed away in 2011. I’ll never forget being in my grandfather’s hospital room, waiting with him to be discharged. It was a Saturday and HLN (Headline News Network) was on. At this point, HLN was not airing Forensic Files twenty-four hours a day and had the same hourly report that started over at the top of each hour. This had been about my third hour straight of watching the program, when all of a sudden, the Breaking News graphic flashed across the screen: “Amy Winehouse Dead at 27.”
When I went home that night, I listened to her music nonstop. I watched the disastrous and tragic final concert videos. I redownloaded Back to Black and downloaded the rest of her discography. I listened to her for three months straight; it was the only way I could make sense of her loss.
A lot of the music I listen to is not current, so obviously these artists are getting older and sometime in the future, they will be gone. However, it does not make it any easier in the least.
Two musician deaths that really struck me hard were Scott Weiland (lead singer of Stone Temple Pilots and Velvet Revolver) in 2015 and Chris Cornell (lead singer of Soundgarden and Audioslave) in May of this year.
With Scott, I found out on my own by checking TMZ that morning. My world stopped for a few minutes. I had to just comb through all of the tributes in order to fully process that he was gone. Although Scott had been going down a destructive road for many years, it was still hard to believe he finally succumbed to his demons. He seemed invincible.
With Chris Cornell, Jasmine had messaged me on Snapchat saying, “I can’t believe the news. I am heartbroken.” Immediately, I checked online, and I saw the headline: “Chris Cornell Dead at 52.” Unlike Scott’s passing, this was definitely shocking. I remember listening to my local rock radio station, and the morning person saying something along the lines of, “Unfortunately, this is not a hoax. Chris Cornell has died.” What made this passing so hard was the fact that I had almost purchased tickets to see a festival in Fort Myers where Soundgarden was performing. However, I backed out because I had a final exam the next morning. That was about three weeks before he died.
As a musician and a music lover in general, these deaths hit me more as opposed to those who are not music fans like I am. I feel like I lose friends when these people pass. Their music is the soundtrack to my life. They are there for me when no else seems to be, and the fact they are gone devastates me.
Their families will never see them again. Their fans will never see them perform again. They will never record music again.
Some people dismiss these deaths as “bound to happen,” “wasted talent,” or “too bad.” They don’t really get it. They don’t understand how someone can mean so much to a person if they have never met them.These people meant the world to me, even if I have never met them. They are irreplaceable. Years later, I still am heartbroken when I think about the fact that they are gone.
But even though I am heartbroken, I continue to listen to their beautiful songs. Cause after all, the music does live on.
HC XOXO,
Danielle