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Yesterday Damageplan were playing a gig in Columbus, Ohio. Damageplan are the new band, first album out at the start of this year, of brothers Dimebag Darrell and Vinnie Paul, who spent a decade and a half being half of Pantera.
Just as they were getting started on the first song, someone climbed on stage, shot Darrell point-blank about four times, fired off a few more random shots killing three others (a roadie, a fan and someone there with the band) and then was killed himself by a police officer as he held another fan in a headlock.
See, I'm not one for hero worship or the like, and where you may find evidence of such irrationality around here it's certainly never about guitarists. No matter if the lad got banned from guitar competitions in his teens because it wasn't fair that he kept winning all of them, it's not my thing. John Peel is being missed, especially tonight when I was listening to the radio in the kitchen whilst making a start on festive confectionery heaps, Rob Da Bank standing in at least not too badly on what they're still calling the John Peel Show, but still, he went and that's that and things change. You move on. There's something about this getting to me a lot more than I'd expect, though, feels like far more of a dislocation.
Possibly because of the essential mundanity, because he wasn't anything that special, just a bloke who was pretty nifty with a guitar who could get away with doing that for a living. Of all the things to have to die because of, that's even more shittily pointless than usual. There's the painful random factor for the others that died, they happened to be seeing the band or working there, but that's easier to parse because shitty random things happen in all sorts of ways and that's life and isn't it shit but what can you do? Dying because, specifically because, though, you like playing guitar and started a new band so you could that some more, that gets me in a way I can't let go of right now.
Anyway.
Just as they were getting started on the first song, someone climbed on stage, shot Darrell point-blank about four times, fired off a few more random shots killing three others (a roadie, a fan and someone there with the band) and then was killed himself by a police officer as he held another fan in a headlock.
See, I'm not one for hero worship or the like, and where you may find evidence of such irrationality around here it's certainly never about guitarists. No matter if the lad got banned from guitar competitions in his teens because it wasn't fair that he kept winning all of them, it's not my thing. John Peel is being missed, especially tonight when I was listening to the radio in the kitchen whilst making a start on festive confectionery heaps, Rob Da Bank standing in at least not too badly on what they're still calling the John Peel Show, but still, he went and that's that and things change. You move on. There's something about this getting to me a lot more than I'd expect, though, feels like far more of a dislocation.
Possibly because of the essential mundanity, because he wasn't anything that special, just a bloke who was pretty nifty with a guitar who could get away with doing that for a living. Of all the things to have to die because of, that's even more shittily pointless than usual. There's the painful random factor for the others that died, they happened to be seeing the band or working there, but that's easier to parse because shitty random things happen in all sorts of ways and that's life and isn't it shit but what can you do? Dying because, specifically because, though, you like playing guitar and started a new band so you could that some more, that gets me in a way I can't let go of right now.
Anyway.