Saturday, September 24, 2005

Talent Kills

I sit here tonight empty again. During the day my mind was going full tilt boogie. Humorous or insightful thoughts breezed in and breezed out. The problem was I was too busy with my hands and what they were doing to take the time to jot any of it down. So, here I am planted. Watching the cursor flash and running the mouse around the screen like a race car and making engine noises. Something will pop up. It always does.

Maybe some tunes. " Sublime Live". Hmm. Seems a contradiction in terms considering when the main man offed himself, the band broke up. It is even more ironical that this album came out after he died. Reminds me of "Eat a Peach", the live album by the Allman Brothers that was deployed shortly after Duane ran into the back of a fruit truck on his motorcycle back in the 70's. I am not sure it was a fruit truck he ran into. But it feeds the myth and the irony of the album name.

What is with these creative types? Is it a prerquisite to be depressed and a miserable SOB to be truly talented. Is it necessary to first be a tormented soul in order to make it as an artist? It sure seems to help. Or do you need to die first to really be appreciated? I did not discover Sublime until well after the main dude expired. His death had nothing to do with my interest. It just made him more interesting.. The reason is actually more mundane and ordinary. Lis had left one of their CD's in the player and I turned it on. Accidental exposure. Unplanned and not forced. And now, his music is a regular go to when I am perusing the pile for something to listen to.
He is dead. But he still speaks to me. The man made a mark. I am impressed. His music makes me know I would like to have hung with him. Shared some beers, laughed at the silly and stupid things we all do. And I do not even know his name. He is only "Sublime". I know because he had it tatted on his back.

Having talent and exercising it sure seems to use people up at a faster rate than the rest of us. It seems almost obligatory to have a drug problem, likker trouble, or be unable to connect with the rest of us for some bizarre reason. Someone once said, artists feel more intensly than most folks. More sensitive to the crap that most of us just deal with. They are able to see connections and draw conclusions no one else could or would have thought of. But their life expectancy runs shy of the norm. Price of fame? Maybe. Or do their lives just mirror our own? They just do it in public.