celebrity deaths

It’s been 10 years since Michael Jackson died (June 25, 2009, to be precise). His estate still rakes in loads of cash. An HBO documentary with two alleged abuse victims of his released this year and is HBO’s third most-watched documentary of all time.

Some radio stations in Canada will not play his music, but Cirque du Soleil still does a Jackson-themed show in Vegas. The Simpsons no longer airs the episode where he voices a character, but his music still generates income in the hundreds of millions of dollars. Real dollars, too–the U.S. kind.

So his post-life is seeing great commercial success, though the creepy days of yore–with fresh new lurid stories–present the classic dilemma of separating the art from the artist. Can you enjoy “Beat It” knowing he almost certainly abused young children? Also, “Beat It”, is that a totally coded message or what? (It’s probably a coincidence.) For myself, I can appreciate his musical legacy, but no longer seek out or listen to his music. There’s just no way to separate it from the creepy kinda guy he was. People can probably do this in a hundred years when they are listening to his songs with their $500/month Apple Music subscription, but for now and for me, Michael Jackson is simply still dead.

A few days ago, possibly prompted by an old song I’d heard somewhere, I thought about Gordon Downie, lead singer of The Tragically Hip, and how he was still around, more than a year after the band had completed their farewell tour due to Downie’s aggressive, untreatable brain cancer. I admired his resilience against what sounded like imminent death.

Today that death finally arrived and the way he spent this past year left me feeling not sad, but strangely happy at how he made his time–cut terribly short–truly count. He lived his life well, right up to the end.

I only ever bought one Tragically Hip album, Fully Completely (which is a great collection of songs) but there is no denying their impact on the Canadian cultural landscape. Just look at today’s iTunes Top 10 albums:

Death, as always, is a great way to boost sales.

Farewell, Gordon. May your light burn bright wherever you are.

David Bowie died today at the age of 69. He had been fighting cancer–unknown to most–for about 18 months before finally succumbing. His latest and final album, Blackstar, was released just three days ago.

It’s currently #1 on the Canadian iTunes store. Five of his other albums are in the top ten.

Dying is always a great boost to a career.

I liked Bowie’s music. I only own two of his albums but have always appreciated his artistry and the way he forged his own unique musical identity. His legacy as a brilliant performer is assured.

At the same time I admit that I found some of his work, like that of Tin Machine, wholly unappealing. I was never a huge fan of grunge (I like a little edge in my music, but only a little) and Tin Machine was essentially grunge before it had a label.

But that’s just personal taste. Bowie never did anything wrong. He did what he wanted and what he wanted was to explore musical landscapes in ways that were always interesting and sometimes catchy as all get-out.

His death makes me feel sad in that he-was-a-good-guy-who-also-happened-to-be-a-celebrity way, but it also makes me realize that growing older is defined so much by what we lose–from the superficial, like the hair on our heads and the smooth skin of our faces, to the substantial–drifting apart from long-time friends, sometimes for reasons no one can say, to the loss of those we love to death. Our culture creates and celebrates pop icons and as the years pass I watch as death claims more and more of the ones I grew up with, people who did not seem immortal, exactly, but somehow eternal.

Bowie was like that. Seeing cancer claim him reminds me–us–that our time as physical bodies is limited.

So now, while we can, let’s dance.