Read On: Striving toward immortality
I’m going to make a prediction here right now: Someday, I’m going to be big. Really big. Possibly even legendary. I’ll be hysterically funny, sublimely profound, immensely talented and altogether spectacular — nay, a genius.
Unfortunately, I won’t be around to appreciate the praise foisted upon me, because I’ll be dead.
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I’ll be much cooler than anyone can even remember just after I’ve shuffled off this mortal coil. My presence on Earth will be immeasurably more meaningful to a larger number of people than is presently imagined. Why? Because it is to a great extent my death itself that will fuel this view.
Never is someone’s life more significant and acclaimed than just after they have bitten the big one. We were again reminded of this on Thursday following the death of the musical icon Prince, whose sudden passing generated a massive outpouring of grief, adoration, personal glimpses, fawning testimonials and general reverence all over social media.
Indeed, my Facebook page was abuzz with tales that spoke to the enormity of Prince’s having left us — and too soon at a mere 57. There’s been a lot of this type of posthumous reflection of late when it comes to musical greats, whose ranks have been thinned immeasurably over just the first four months of the year. Besides Prince, they span David Bowie, Glenn Frey, Merle Haggard, Natalie Cole and Beatles producer George Martin, among others.
In each of these cases — particularly those of Bowie and Prince — the depth of the loss was assessed as towering. And I don’t for a moment question the authenticity of the outbursts of sorrow and sharing of memories, links, examples of brilliance, etc.
These feelings aren’t merely reserved for masters of music, either. Anyone who is famous is instantly, if temporarily, elevated to a level achieved perhaps only intermittently while they were actually breathing. They also reconnect us to a certain age of our youth.
What Prince’s death, and those of Haggard and Bowie before them, left me feeling was that I’d missed the boat, that I was so out of touch with the cultural zeitgeist that I’d failed to adequately appreciate these culture-shifting superstars.
I’m not sure who first cynically observed how dying is the ultimate savvy career move, but it perhaps remains more true today than ever. And seemingly, the younger one dies, the greater the esteem into perpetuity.
Elvis Presley. James Dean. John Belushi. Jim Morrison. Jimi Hendrix. Janis Joplin. Bruce Lee. Buddy Holly. Amy Winehouse. Kurt Cobain. And, of course, Marilyn Monroe. They all remain industries unto themselves, their names still iconic, their brands perpetual cash cows, their faces indelible and frozen in time.
What is it about the death of those whom we’ve revered that so preoccupies and moves us? The truth is that it isn’t merely the demise of the famous that proves so spellbinding, so stirring. It’s the concept of death itself and the timely reminder of our own mortality — the fact that we’re all here for a preciously limited time and the Grim Reaper looms over everyone’s shoulder.
While we all think about it in the back of our minds, more so for obvious reasons as we age, it conflictingly remains the “Last Great Taboo” that shall not be discussed.
We do everything to stave off the inevitable, including eating healthier, exercising harder and reducing stress. We go to great lengths to cosmetically alter the natural aging process to try and fool those around us, if not Mother Nature herself.
In the end, nothing works. We die anyway.
My theory on this is that it isn’t really the death part itself that so freaks us out. I mean, the awareness of our ultimate departure screws with our mind plenty. But a majority of us come to terms with that in order to live a full and satisfying life, either through some form of secular reasoning or a higher spiritual power and belief.
What I think we fear most isn’t so much the post-mortem unknown (reincarnation? perpetual nothingness?) but rather the idea that our lives will have had no deeper meaning. It sounds a bit maudlin, but my take is it’s hard-wired into our DNA to have our being here carry a broader purpose. We have a driving need to leave something memorable behind, whether it be amazing human beings we have spawned, a magnificent body of work or lives we’ve enriched.
In short, we want desperately to be remembered. And that’s why we’re so captivated by the demise of someone like Prince, whose name and memory will live on into eternity. Whether we talk about it or not, we want to live forever, too.
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RAY RICHMOND has covered Hollywood and the entertainment business since 1984. He can be reached via email at ray@rayrichco.com and Twitter at @MeGoodWriter.