Waking The Dead

Apparently Elvis died 30 years ago today, and that is supposed to mean something.

There is a morbid fascination with celebrity and death that is equal parts cultish and pathetic. It's bad enough that dead celebrities birthdays are grounds for celebration and the stupid announcement of how old they'd be if they were still alive, but revelling in their demise is hardly a celebration of their life. John Lennon and Kurt Cobain also get the Elvis treatment as their Deathday is annually covered in memorium -- and why?

Elvis had a massive heart attack on the toilet after years of drugs and revolting eating habits. Lennon was assassinated by a lunatic fan. Cobain cooked up a big fix and then ate the business end of a shotgun. None of these deaths are particularly glorious or uplifting, and certainly not indicitive of the legacy of their music. Elvis was far beyond his prime. Lennon was making experimental records with Yoko and was hardly the consistant songsmith from his Beatles days. And Cobain was burnt out from the spotlight and was on the verge of breaking up Nirvana.

All three were incredibly important artists, but the fanatical devotion to their passing means little, if nothing in terms of honoring them. Let the dead lie and their work be celebrated, not the other way around.