Scott Weiland. Stone Temple Pilots. Trending themes today, on every social network, on national magazines websites, even on TV. Suddenly everyone 
finds a memory, a precious one, related to him. Suddenly everyone is a fan, everyone will miss him, everyone feels time is running by and away and share videos of a band almost no one had posted about in ages. I won’t add more words about a man who just died too early. I just wonder what’s the immense power of death, providing a shortcut for immediate sanctification, forgiving all sins, giving a certification for eternal glory. What’s wrong with it? It sounds like an early death – preferably due to suicide or overdose – is the extreme and never failing way to be certified as a 100% rock’n’roll star. “For Real”, as Richey Manics wrote on his arm in blood. No more pretending, no more performing, no cheating. Death is death, and through it you get respect and adoration. What’s wrong with it again? Is it rock’n’roll so close to Greek idea of the young hero dying in battles deserving the status of a semi-god? Do we need this macabre fascination to appreciate talent and worship a song forever? Only the dead are untouchable ones free from the torture of criticising and the often ridicoulous decline of fallen stars?
I would personally wish rock’n’roll and music won’t be needing any more martyrs, and that personal tragedies won’t be confused with musical and artistic talent and neither considered a sadly necessary background for it.
What’s very hard is to hate yourself, and still do not want to die.
Ask The Sky 