Admittedly, I never listened to her music--but man, it's hard to believe Whitney Houston is gone. Anyone over the age of 23 knows how huge she became, and how much she ultimately lost. She scored seven straight #1 hits in the 80's, though her peak arguably came in the years between The Bodyguard (1992) and Waiting to Exhale (1995)--she starred in these blockbuster films and sang several songs on both platinum-selling soundtracks. Of course, her later years were marred by pervasive drug abuse and the reality TV circus that was her marriage to Bobby Brown. In a way, Houston's death is more shocking than Michael Jackson's 2009 passage to the great beyond. Yes, Jackson was a bigger star, but he spent his final years isolated from the public eye. Houston was front and center, right up to the end.
Houston made millions from her golden voice, and now, due to the tragic circumstances of her death, her legend is secured. Per current rules, a musical celebrity's legacy is cemented after they suffer a drug-related death. Call it a truce with the devil. But what about talented musicians we lose to drugs before they manage to reach stardom? Where's their Grammy tribute?
Jay Reatard passed away a little over two years ago at the age of 29. He started out as a 90's teen making music in his bedroom, and hit his stride as frontman of The Lost Sounds at the turn of the millennium. Reatard (born Jimmy Lee Lindsey Jr.) was a gifted songwriter with a well of creativity too generous for one band. As a result, he played in no fewer than eight groups during the last decade of his life. However, he's best remembered as a solo performer whose whiny voice and subversive lyrics set him apart from many of his peers--and turned a lot of people off in the process. Like he cared. He died from a lethal combo of booze and cocaine less than a year after Spin Magazine listed his last EP, Watch Me Fall, among the Top 10 Albums of 2009.
For some reason, the state of Minnesota gives us a supremely gifted musical act every decade or so. Earlier generations got Bob Dylan, Prince and The Replacements--and we have Atmosphere, one of the most prolific hip-hop outfits of the iTunes age. In 2000, Michael Larsen joined the group as a secondary MC and support DJ; that same year, he won battle rap contests at both the Rock Steady Anniversary and Blaze Battle New York festivals under his stage name, Eyedea. Though he's best-known for long-term collaborations with DJ Abilties and Face Candy, he also performed onstage with the likes of Sage Francis, Aesop Rock and Blueprint, and further distinguished himself as a first-rate battle MC. He died of an accidental overdose on Nov. 18, 2010.
Sometimes, an artist spends 30 years writing songs, playing shows and earning the respect of their peers--but never manages to earn a lot of name recognition. That's essentially what happened to Vic Chesnutt, a denizen of Athens, Ga., who got caught up in the local folk-alternative scene that produced R.E.M., Widespread Panic, Matthew Sweet and Drive-By Truckers. Chesnutt wasn't your typical musician: when he was 18, a car accident rendered him partially paralyzed with limited use of his hands. This disability didn't stop him from writing, though. Chesnutt released 17 albums (two of which were produced by Michael Stipe) before the end of his journey, which came from an overdose of muscle relaxants on Christmas Day, 2009. His style was described as a "skewed, refracted version of Americana that is haunting, funny, poignant and occasionally mystical."
Gary Primich was born and raised in Chicago, but spent the majority of his years playing the blues in Austin. His career began when he formed The Mannish Boys with Mothers of Invention singer Jimmy Carl Franklin in the mid-80's. It ended in September 2007, when Primich died of a heroin overdose at his home. During the long, modestly successful period in the middle, his voice, guitar and harmonica became fixtures of the iconic Austin scene. His most successful album, Mr. Freeze, was released by Flying Fish Records in 1995. Primich was inducted into the Austin Music Hall of Fame during his lifetime.
Nothing ruins your chances for a lasting musical legacy like getting kicked out of the band you founded. Singer Steve Ronald "Stevo" Jensen just wanted The Vandals, his Orange County punk band, to take part in the hardcore SoCal scene of the early 80's. The other two members wanted to approach punk themes with a goofier, more satirical approach than their contemporaries. This led to a bitter split in 1985, but not before the band scored a memorable appearance in the film, Suburbia. Stevo thrashed and wailed around L.A. with various acts until he accidentally overdosed in 2005. His replacement, Dave Quackenbush, is still with The Vandals and the band's humorous sensibilities have become a signature that sets them apart from more serious counterparts like X, Pennywise, Bad Religion and Social Distortion. They've released some fine, funny punk anthems over the last 25 years--but one can't help but wonder how "hardcore" Vandals might sound today.
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