Death, Illness and the Oscars

by Will 'The Cranky Music Man' Golightly

I don't want to bring you down, but it's been a dark week in the world of rock. And to make matters worse, the absurd Bill Walton is calling the Arizona-Ole Miss game that I'm watching as we speak. Things could be worse, though. I could be dead.

Just like John Phillips, founder and head honcho of the Mamas and the Papas. He died of heart failure last Sunday, Sunday. He joined Mama Cass, who died many years before him-- he saw her again that night. Right this minute he is Everafter living, but California dreamin'. I could go on like this forever. Except they don't have any other songs.

The Mamas and the Papas broke up in 1968. Two years later, the head Papa and hot Mama Michelle Phillips were divorced. But you probably know all about that from Behind the Music. I saw it too. What a pathetic attempt at love triangularity! It was like a low-rent Fleetwood Mac but with worse facial hair. Which is NOT a Mama Cass joke. A Mama Cass joke would be "like a low-rent Fleetwood Mac-- more like a Big Mac."

The Mamas and the Papas for some reason have not faded into the mist of history. I'm not quite sure why. Their trademark was the not-exactly-original idea that they should NOT ALL SING AT THE SAME TIME. Way to go, folk-rock visionaries! Repeat after me: All the leaves are brown (all the leaves are brown), and the sky is grey (and the sky is graaa-hey!). The real legacy left by John Phillips is Bijou, Mackenzie, and Chynna. Those are his daughters. The first has released one bad album and been deflowered by Evan "Statutory Rape" Dando. The second is the girl from One Day at a Time who is NOT married to Eddie Van Halen. And the third is the member of Wilson Phillips who is NOT the daughter of a 1960's musical genius.

I was planning to give equal time to Loretta Lynn and Joey Ramone, both of whom have had hospital stays recently; but I'm really tired. I stayed up to watch the Oscars tonight. I'm feeling a little woozy after all that Gladiator nonsense, so I'll keep this brief.

Loretta Lynn is a country music icon and a coal miner's daughter, I'm told. She is damn near seventy years old and has come down with pneumonia, which is never a good sign in elderly country singers. I might have been more troubled by the news if I hadn't thought she was already dead. I know that sounds callous, but I bet I'm not the only one under that impression.

Joey Ramone may be in even worse shape: he has lymphoma. With the help of his revolving-door band the Ramones, he is as responsible as anyone for punk rock as we know it. Though his band became alarmingly cuddly towards the end, no one, as far as I can tell, actually dislikes the Ramones. More importantly, the old records still sound good, which is enough for me. And it should be for you, too. So send him a get-well-soon Ecard or something. I would if I weren't feeling so crappy.