Bury Me In Willow

I’ve tried  not to be too morbid in this feature, but the worst case scenario of the pandemic is death. It’s a slow, painful, and undignified death. I saw a nurse on Maddow the other night and she said: “COVID-19 is a monster, not a disease.” I concur.

Here are some shocking numbers: the United States has 5% of the world’s population and 1/3 of all novel coronavirus cases. As of this writing, 123,000 and counting Americans have died. Difficult numbers, hard truths. Don’t be in that number: please wear a mask and be careful out there.

Now for the music. These songs are all ones that I’ve told Dr. A that I’d like played at my memorial service. Despite the first song, I’m not into the whole body in the box thing. I want to be cremated and have my ashes on the mantle alongside our deceased cats. Now, that was morbid.

When John Wetton wrote the first song in 2012, he was bouncing back from a bout with the cancer that eventually took his life in 2017:

Chris Difford and Glenn Tilbrook wrote the next song about the passing of the friend who introduced them. We owe her a debt of musical gratitude:

I always associate this Warren Zevon song with the sudden and shocking death of my friend Ashley Morris in 2008:

This beautiful Neil Finn song breaks me up at least every other time I hear it:

Robbie Robertson wrote Fallen Angel as a tribute to his fallen comrade Richard Manuel. He had a little help singing the song from fellow rock god, Peter Gabriel.

Finally, a song that I posted in my tribute to the late, great Johnny Clegg after his death last year. It was written after the passing of his close friend and bandmate Dudu Zulu:

These songs of mortality were merely the ones that popped into my head. There’s more where they came from. How’s that for morbid?

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