Monday, March 12, 2012
Recently we were all saddened to hear of the death, at only 66 years of age, of Davy Jones, the sole Englishman among the members of the 1960's pop quartet, the Monkees. The 1960's coincided with the first decade of my lifetime. Everyone who knows anything about me knows about my lifelong obsessive love affair with the music of that era. To this day I still enjoy their TV show in reruns. They were originally intended as a variation on the Beatles but they seemed, right away, to have taken on a life & perosonality of their own. Jones, Peter Tork, Mike Nesmith & Mickey Dolenz were a jovial quartet, at least from the looks of their public persona. It was nice to see all the outpouring of interest in Jones & sorrow for his death. Women in my age range have reminisced about how he was their first crush in grammar school. I was especially happy to hear about his connection to both New York & Pa. I can still remember the Monkee Halloween costumes my Jackson Heights friends & I used to wear during the band's heyday. Over the cours of the several decades since then, the band's members had often gotten back together for reunions, most notably in 1986, & they very recently went on a concert tour to celebrate their forty~fifth anniversary. Etta James, another famous 1960's singer, & Whitney Houston, also died recently, but as far as I'm concerned there is something especially sad about Jones' death. He was a part of the world in which I grew up.