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Mourning a Monkee

I feel horrible in saying that one person’s death saddens me more than another. The recent death of Whitney Houston affected many generations X-ers, as we lived along her public rise and fall. The Monkees frontman, Davy Jones was easily middle-aged by the time Nickelodeon began re-airing the popular television show in the 80s. The resurgence was brief yet Jones’ death affects me much deeper compared some other figures in pop culture that have left us in the past year.

The reason for my heartstrings being plucked a bit harder in this recent occurrence is probably due to the fact that I had to fight in order to be a fan of The Monkees. Not in a literal sense of course, but I was constantly ridiculed by family members about liking an “oldie” group.  My “hip” cousins told me I should be listening to R&B, rap and hip hop, not old music. Even after my “Monkee Mania” phase, relatives continued to tease me throughout the 90s, as if I am supposed to be embarrassed for liking them.

As I finally found like-minded peers later in life, I was pleased to find out that a bunch of other kids loved The Monkees back in the 80s. I guess my cousins would label us as the alternative crowd. If it meant that I wasn’t a sheep to the trend, then I gladly subscribed to the label.

In essence, what I’m saying is The Monkees were more than a pop act. For me, it was symbolism. I wish I found people with similar tastes earlier on in life. Then maybe someone would’ve introduced me to revolutionary-based music genres and got me on my punk rock path a little sooner in life.

RIP Davy Jones – 1945 – 2012


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