Here’s the thing about the ’60s: the decade died a long time ago, and it will never die.
You could say the same, of course, about any decade. But in terms of cultural, if not historical import, the ’60s can, depending on the audience, conjure up entirely different visions: Progress, Change, Peace, Unrest, Indulgence, Experimentation, Evolution, Emancipation, Immorality, et cetera.
As such, the decade will have a long shelf life in our collective memories, if for no other reason because so much music was created during those years. Like any decade, there was brilliant music, boring music and everything in between.
Which indirectly brings us to Davy Jones, and the fact that he has died at an age most of us consider entirely too young to die.
I think the outpouring of grief and love (aside from the fact that Jones was well-loved and…lovable) also has a great deal to do with the fact that seeing icons from iconic times start to pass away is more than just a sad occasion. It is definitely that, but more, seeing someone –particularly someone as eternally youthful as Jones– die abruptly is a stark and unpleasant reminder that we will all join him, sooner than later. We remain in the early stages of an extended period where we’ll inexorably watch the majority of superstars from the ’60s, and eventually ’70s, start to die. They rose to the top on our watch and many of them will expire while we watch. It is what it is.
His legacy? For me that is square in the middle of who knows/who cares, because however happy a guy he may have been (or however one cares to measure his artistic import) he made a lot of people happy, and that happens to count for a hell of a lot. We don’t need to lionize or minimize his achievements (and I’m certain they’ll be plenty of both going on in the next days/weeks) to simply say: our world would have been a bit less cheerful and colorful had he not been a part of it. At the end of the day, how many human beings can we say that about?
Of course, you probably had to be there. Even as an eight year old (when the re-runs played on TV) I understood they were watered down Beatles rip-offs. And I still could not resist songs like “Last Train to Clarksville” or “I’m A Believer”. My world was big enough for The Beatles, The Monkees…and Kiss. It still is.
The Monkees were, arguably, one of the –if not the– first fully manufactured boy bands. Except back then there were man bands. Young, sure, and the target demographic was younger girls (same as today for the most part) but there was something at once more and less calculated about The Monkees. Certainly, a group of guys chosen for their looks and not their musical abilities is the height of cynical commercialism. Except that it worked. (It always works, one might argue, but I also wonder if the boy bands of the last two decades will get as much airplay, two decades from now, as The Monkees still do.) The songs were good, the guys looked the part and eventually (allegedly) they actually played and sang. Who cares? They made their mark, and I’m not hearing anyone who bought their albums (then, now) complain. If you can’t hang your hat on that, see you in the recycle bin.
Rest in peace, Davy.
Pure pop bliss.
Take The Beatles, add some Yardbirds, pour a whole lot of sugar, mix it up and you get one of the Monkees songs I can still stand:
Bottom line: if he was good enough for Marsha Brady, he’s good enough for me.
