This Day in Death

12.28.15: Motörhead Frontman Ian Fraser “Lemmy” Kilmister – DEAD!

Filed under: Dead —James @ 1:11 pm December 30, 2015
Classic Rock Roll Of Honour Awards 2011 In London - Musician Portraits[via Inside Pulse]

That’s right, his actual last name from birth was Kilmister. Sometimes things just happen that way, like when it turned out the guy from Smash Mouth’s last name was Van Douchebro. It’s Dutch. 

 

Lemmy Kilmister, Motörhead frontman and evil version of the cop from the Village People, has died only two days after being diagnosed with cancer. No word on how the cancer is doing, probably because it wasn’t famous. Typical.

Over his 44-year career with Motörhead and precursor Hawkwind, Lemmy endured shifting band lineups, accusations of Nazi affiliation, and three lawsuits from his own liver. Despite mounting health problems, he kept on touring and performing right until his death, with many fans wondering each time they saw Motörhead if it would be his last show. I know the feeling: As a cocksure blogger who lives life a quarter paragraph at a time, people are always worried that each sick gerund I recklessly type may be spelling out the end of this autobio I call life. But the joke’s on them, because you can’t actually die from loneliness. Only from diseases facilitated by loneliness.

Rolling Stone has a nice writeup, but I don’t suggest reading it, as Lemmy’s controversial paraphernalia collection caused the comments section to devolve into accusations of Nazism almost immediately. Just bad form. It’s customary to wait for the coolest commenter to declare that he was “First!,” followed by easing into things with a couple of unsettling posts about Obama, and only then to go screaming full-tilt into the Hitler stuff. It may seem silly to you, but if we don’t respect the proud traditions of the internet we’ll never be able to benefit from its wisdom. Its stupid, dangerously racist wisdom.

Kilmister boasted that he had drank a bottle of Jack Daniel’s every day since he turned 30, although he admittedly gave up booze in 2013 as his health started to catch up to his hard living. “I suddenly realized I was waking up in pools of other people’s vomit, and I had no recollection of them,” Kilmister told Rolling Stone in January 2014. “That’s a bit much. I’m not saying don’t have fun, don’t snort the occasional line – but don’t make it your life.”

If you didn’t do the math yourself (and I know you didn’t do the math because I’m the only one who would, so stop playin’), at an approximate rate of $18.99 per bottle, that’s $6,931.35 a year, adjusted for inflation but before taxes, because I assume Lemmy wrote that shit right the hell off. After 38 years that would come to $263,391.30 blown on a carcinogen whose entire function is to try to murder you to the best of its ability. And it’s not just Lemmy, as the average American spends roughly 1% of their income on alcohol. Good job, dumbasses: You essentially just blew your retirement savings to hire a steady stream of tiny Mel Gibsons to punch you from the inside of your body for the rest of your life.

 

Source: Rolling Stone

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12.18.15: Norman Bridwell, Creator of Clifford, the Big Red Dog – DEAD!

Filed under: Dead —James @ 6:07 pm December 21, 2015
Norman Bridwell, Dick Robinson[via Today]

Bridwell, right, appears at a birthday event for Clifford, who has raised his paws in a symbolic gesture of solidarity with the #redlivesmatter protesters. Jesus, we’re trying to have a party here, can you turn off the social justice rhetoric for one day?

 

Norman Bridwell, creator of the much-tolerated Clifford, the Big Red Dog series of books, has died at the age of 86. Clifford, of course, was the heartwarming story of a runty puppy who eventually grew to become a crippling financial burden to his owner, a little girl without a job. I think it’s a metaphor for going to college.

You know, everyone thinks they can just wham bam a children’s book and make a fortune because they’re only, like, 50 words long and most of the pictures are of everyday things like dogs and trees and gimp masks and stuff. Well, that’s where you’d be wrong, you cynical opportunist, you. Even the simplest writing is extremely draining. Why, just check out this exclusive sneak peek at the climactic scene from my in-the-works screenplay, Lawyerhorse 2000: The Horse That’s Also a Lawyer:

LAWYERHORSE

 

That right there is the result of two years of meticulous plotting, intense personal introspection, and one failed marriage. So don’t go assuming that Bridwell just one-two’d the whole concept in an afternoon.

…Scholastic accepted the manuscript that he’d written over a weekend.

See? A weekend. That’s three days if you count Friday. For all we know Monday was Memorial Day, it could’ve been a solid 96 hours invested. Alright, fine, so it’s still not that long. But that’s only because Bridwell was a professional and knew how to execute an idea in a short amount of time, the result of years of disciplined writing. By the time he came up with Clifford he must’ve been firing with enough precision and prolificacy to make Stephen King throw up his corn chowder all over his L.L. Bean signature shearling-lined duck boots. (He lives in Maine.)

Bridwell told Simon that he “was shocked when it was accepted for publication, because I’d never written anything before.”

Okay, so, this is getting hard to justify, like feeding a cow a hamburger. I guess the real lesson here is, “just do it, you might get lucky.” It’s the same attitude bank robbers have. Just sayin.

 

Source: NPR

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12.3.15: Scott Weiland – DEAD!

Filed under: Dead —James @ 6:25 pm December 5, 2015

SCOTT_WEILANDWeiland, seen here performing for what I have to assume is a crowd made up of 50% Hell’s Angels and 50% sassy airline stewards. You gotta know your audience, I always say.

 

Musician Scott Weiland, best known as frontman for 90s bar trivia answer Stone Temple Pilots, was found dead in his tour bus on Thursday. No official cause of death has been released, but cocaine was found on the scene and Weiland’s struggles with addiction were widely-known. Of course, there’s nothing funny about addiction, at least not with the current slate of drugs that are available. Maybe if someone invented one that gradually made you look like a circus clown, or made you pass gas super loud during fancy dinner parties. Let the world have a laugh already, black market pharmacology!

The Stone Temple Pilots came on the scene at the height of the grunge movement, releasing its first album, “Core,” in 1992. Critics were unkind, accusing them of being poseurs riding the coattails of Nirvana and Pearl Jam.

But it didn’t matter. “Core” and its 1994 follow-up, “Purple,” sold more than 10 million copies. STP won a Grammy in 1994 for the song “Plush” and had monster hits with “Vasoline” and “Interstate Love Song.”

After being ousted from STP, Weiland joined Velvet Revolver, a rock outfit made up of former members of Guns N’ Roses who were sick of Axl Rose’s bullshit and yearned to get back to focusing on music by signing on with a slightly different flavor of hopelessly abusive frontman. It’d be like divorcing Ike Turner to go marry Chris Brown. Eventually you start to wonder how likely it is that Slash, Duff McKagan, Matt Sorum, and Dave Kushner really all fell down a staircase at the same time.

It’s weird seeing the 90s grunge guys like Weiland start dying, though. It seemed like we totally skipped over a huge wave of 80s musician deaths. The only thing that really comes to mind is the time that all the members of Survivor died from asphyxiation while doing their hair in an unventilated building. I know it’s a tragedy, but they were tempting fate with that name to begin with.

 

Source: CNN

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