S is for Stars

I had originally intended for this post to be a brief review, something I never really did, for the fantastic movie, Star Wars: the Force Awakens. However, as I am setting to compose this title, I received the tragic news of the passing of the great Prince, an icon in music for all the right reasons.

I felt it was necessary to add my song to the chorus of sorrows that rattle over the landscape of social media, I, too, am quiet blue. I took an advertising and mass media class way back when in college, long before there was a Tweet on the horizon, and was always impressed with the idea that companies pour so much money into getting a product out there, when, in the end, you never know how well it works unless you trap people in polling places and interview them.

Or you get more business.

Artists are a crazy lot. Michael Jackson, for all of his wachidoodle-ness, was an artist. Yes, he made more money than the Gross National Debt, but that was not his intent.

He wanted to dance. And sing.

And, apparently, be free to practice stupidity.

Prince Nelson Rodgers died this morning, at the age of 57. Now that I’m married to a 50 year old, suddenly that number isn’t too far away in the world I experience. Details are forthcoming, but I am saddened by this news. His “Purple Rain” was one of the first pieces of vinyl I ever purchased, at Target, for my newfangled record player (it had a cassette player!). His music emerged, as did his persona, as MTV grew. An intense man, he kept to himself and played the game very differently than others. He never had a drunken fueled night of debauchery. He never once was called out on infidelity. He used to his cash wisely and locked himself away in his Paisley Park compound to do what he loved.

He created. And made music.

In fact, that’s the only thing people ever really got bothered about with him. He wrote about sex and sexuality in frank, deliciously rhythmic, terms. They cleared the air about such things for many of my Generation X peers. So even that wasn’t so poor.

But otherwise, he did what he set out to do.

Be an artist.

And his star shone quiet brightly.

The humor of the statement is “The Great Celebrity Purge of 2016” has a bittersweet sting. I don't wish death on anyone, but as I already posted, earlier this month, death has a beauty to it. An angry, hideous purpose of giving everything a temporary quality-and by knowing of it's presence, we are able to see the importance of our journey, and the vitality we need to explore at every moment.

It's always encouraged for children to have pets, to know that life abounds around them and, since they pass long before they do, to show them the potency of grief and the amazing ability we are all blessed with to cope. Not in any way am I pointing out that these recent passings of such incredible stars as pets, not in the least. But with our ongoing connection to them, when they do die, we learn so much more about ourselves and what we felt hearing, seeing, experiencing their art.

Ahhhhh, art. Should have started there on the first letter, A! Art is truly a lie that tells the truth. What we find beauty in, informs us of our shallowness and our depth. Art does have profound purpose.

So when a great artist, like Glenn Frey, or David Bowie, or, yes, Prince, passes, our depression is born out of not missing them, but for that link we had to their art. Whatever art it was that informed our soul.

Whoa. Heavy. Yes. Like my corgi's passing, I'm trying to write my way out of tears. See, my bestest buddy? He's gone to seven Prince concerts. He has a few gazillion t-shirts. He's miserable right now, and it's killing, because, yes, I feel bad too. Not to his measurement, but yes, my 80s decade did have a soundtrack and, yes, it was killer.

There's something else about Prince and David Bowie I feel I should acknowledge, and I think it's getting short thrift.

Their sexuality and the lens it created.

While Mr. Bowie's sexuality still continues to many to be a question mark, he was, by more witnesses than not, straight. Still, the gay accusations flew, and he didn't shy away from them. Instead? He just became more flamboyant. He played gay characters. He played characters that could appeal to both men and women. But he made his sexuality a part of who he was and it's expression not something to be afraid of in any manner.

Prince? Yes, the same way.

I mean, really, purple?

He romanced some of the most beautiful women he could find, but he still wore terrifically frilly get-ups and heels.

Heels.

And big, droopy hats.

His music was a delicious mix of double-entendre and casual hook-ups, gender be damned. For a gay man growing up with a society that just wished AIDS would wash away the problem, I saw two men saying to me, "be who you want to be, love what feels right, let them deal with it."

He didn't ever back down, either, when people made fun of his "Royal Badness."

So, when we can't talk politics at work, we always, always, have the world of stars and celebrities. Yes, I love my Entertainment Weekly, but, folks, that's where the real action is at. At time, I would rip off the covers of the magazine, along with People and Us, and hide them in my textbooks, so my teammates wouldn't catch me reading about the stars. But I'm here and that brings me joy.

And, this week, quite a decent chunk of sorrow.

Looks to the heavens, now, find your hero and let them know how thankful you are that they gave you their music, paintings, words and dreams. After all, stars are for navigating.

Peace