Wednesday afternoon, while I was sitting at my desk between appointments, one of my coworkers announced that Davy Jones of The Monkees had passed away of a heart attack. News of his death came as a bit a shock, as he was, as far as all accounts, a healthy, even health conscious individual, who was still touring. Immediately I texted my mother.
As I'm sure you've noticed, I have a very strange eclectic taste/background in tv/film/music. My mother was a huge fan of The Monkees when she was younger, and when they started rerunning episodes I ended up loving them as well. Which might seem a bit strange as it was definitely a slapstick sixties era comedy and I grew up in the late eighties/early nighties, but for some reason it struck a chord with me. It was something my mother and I had bonded over. I even took her to see Aida on Broadway when Micky Dolenz was staring in it as he was our favorite.
I write this I sit at my couch watching The Monkee's marathon, I tapped off of Antenna Tv this weekend, and it becomes increasingly apparent that this marathon is not intended for anyone remotely near my age, as all the commercials are targeted toward the over 50's crowd. Still there is something inherently charming about the four musicians running about in crazy situations, more often than not involving Davy and girl of the week. Not to mention the musical interludes which essentially were music videos, before music videos existed.
It's funny how a celebrity dying can have an effect on you, to cause you to think about your own life. Music has a profound effect on people, and even though The Monkees were in their prime many years before I was born, their music and tv show, was able to bring my mother and I closer together.
R.I.P. Davy Jones. Thank you for all the laughter, love and great music.