The Crackle in the Vinyl

Waking up to the news today hit me really hard and I’ve struggled to understand why. I loved and lived his music but was not a lifelong fanatic. He was merely part of the wallpaper of my past. Peers and colleagues were stunned; a figure we all grew up with was gone. And anyone who’d ever dreamed and imagined, mourned his passing. For those of us who merely enjoy the music and were aware of David Bowie as a cultural icon there is a sense of disbelief. This sort of thing just doesn’t happen, does it?

There are times when we have to deal with tragedy, have to come to terms with the sad passing of idols both past and present. That our happiest moments are punctuated by music makes the death of our heroes an unavoidable fact of life.  However, it is when we lose those who have been with us forever that we begin to swallow hard and really take notice.

Flustered and bedraggled by real life, we turn to music for an escape from everyday reality. Sticking on a CD or a record, we can pretend there, hope there, even dream there. Things don’t change. We expect those voices to speak to us. The crackle in the vinyl is our crackle in the vinyl. So the reality in which we live is suspended for a time, we hope. Death does not come into that, we hope. What we think of as reality is the ultimate in escapism. It is real but not real and when reality comes knocking at the door it hits us hard.

We are hurt when our heroes disappoint us: a poor album, a disappointing tour, no tour, and we take such disappointments personally. Music fans are irrational and being disappointed by those we love does not come as part of the package. For no discernible reason than that, we expect a lot and when we don’t get it, we react. But another day arrives and we put the old record on, our favourite, and again we’re there. The perfect amnesia.

So why do we become so personally shaken when we hear of the death of people we have never met? Is it because a little part of a world we occasionally enter is affected? Is it more of a communal mourning which allows us to feel better about the loss? Perhaps. But I think it is more about the real world entering our fantasy one. When famous people die – and those we feel are one of us, part of our lives– then we are reminded of our own mortality. We listen to these guys and share their emotion and we think that they are immortal. They are merely characters we invent though, people who we will almost never meet and definitely never know. And because they are our own creation, we mourn for them when they pass.

I was stunned when I heard of David Bowie’s death this morning and moved by many of the tributes paid to him. However, I almost immediately felt guilty when I heard of the starvation of thousands in Syria and did not react in the same way. Music does funny things to us. That escapism from the real world is what makes us what we are. Dreamers: unrealistic dreamers.

I feel sad tonight. I feel old.

One thought on “The Crackle in the Vinyl

  1. Beautifully written, Kenny.

    DB was definitely my era – the 70s were my formative years and I listened to him A LOT when I was a teenager (my record player was affectionately termed ‘the tin box’ and, believe me, there was a great deal of crackle.)

    On Monday I was on a car journey and I took the cd of Ziggy Stardust with me and listened to it several times (I hadn’t remembered there were only 11 tracks). Sometimes when I replay a cd of a record I thought was great 40 years ago, I find I’m disappointed, and realise the filter of my adolescent self distorted my appreciation of quality.

    But this wasn’t true of Ziggy, I have to say. Genius.

    Thanks for this tribute. I don’t think we’re old, but we’re rich in experiences and memories.

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