If the Internet counts, one for Best Music Writing 2011
How do you cover a famous musician's Alzheimer's-affected final shows? No Depression does it beautifully with this recent piece.
A tingle shot through me. His delivery was perfect, if too low in the mix, and the sparkling Fender around his neck was an encouraging sign. But then, in the middle of the first song, it happened. He forgot a phrase, then looked hopelessly at the teleprompter trying desperately to recover, to find his place. He shook it off, spoke into the mic, "let me play one now" and proceeded to deliver a blistering, tasty, technically proficient and incredibly inventive guitar solo. All would be ok, but the realities of the reason for the farewell tour were evident. And they would stay in the room for the night. And we would only love him more for it.
Alzheimer's is a disease I have come to be far too intimately familiar with in recent years, and I live in fear of its coming for me eventually. It is worse than death because the person you know and love is gone, but their physical being remains, and often there is just enough flicker of familiarity inside their eyes to keep you from fully letting go. It is a lengthy, drawn out process and, while that allows for some acceptance to settle in before the inevitable, it is like watching someone you love die in slow motion. Or worse, it is like watching someone you love die twice.
Watching Glen Campbell forget the words to his most famous song right out of the gate was a harsh reminder that this disease is all too real and that this truly is farewell. Soon he won't remember the words to any of his songs, then he won't even recognize his songs, then he won't recognize songs, and then he will be gone.
Previously in this blog: A well-done preview of the Campbell tour.
