2020: The year that stole heroes.
By: Peter Harris
Tags: Celebrity

2020: The year that stole heroes.

In a now all too familiar topic, I find myself reflecting on those that we lost in this year of sacrifice and setbacks. Of course, every year witnesses the passing of multitudes of great people both known and unknown. 2020 however, has seen fit to singlehandedly yank out some of the cornerstones of my formative years.

I remember remarking back in 2012, that with the death of both Caroll Shelby and Jim Marshall we had lost the fathers of fast cars and loud guitars. What was next, was the inventor of sex going to die? Not quite, Hugh Hefner made it to 2017. But the new “roaring twenties” has kicked off with a different roar than the last one. This roar is the realization of mortality as it applies to my heroes.

I remember Elvis Presley dying, and I watched the frantic news coverage of John Lennon’s murder. I am a Beatles fan for sure, but those were my father’s heroes. My two biggest musical heroes were Eddie Van Halen and Neil Peart.

Neil’s passing came as a shock. The notoriously press-shy drummer saved everything he had to say for the pen and paper. As the author of 99.9% of his band’s lyrics, Rush was an ever evolving musical palette for his philosophical musings. After writing several books that he chose to never publish, he finally began trickling out full length tomes as well. His lack of communication with the world at large undoubtedly helped him keep some semblance of normalcy. So learning that the iconic drummer had succumbed to a brain tumor was surprising, but the fact that we didn’t see it coming was not.

As a teen I was introduced to the music of Rush. Of course I had heard “Tom Sawyer” and other hits, but didn’t realize the vast landscape that lay beyond the radio staples. I spent hours upon hours lost in the twists and turns of lengthy epics like “The Necromancer” and “Hemispheres”. Peart had a progressive soul, in that he went from Keith Moon — like frenzy in the early days to mathematical intricacies in the late seventies, to a composer of drum soundscapes in the following decades. Rush was not just progressive in that they wrote lengthy numbers in odd time signatures, but in that the nature of the songwriting progressed. Of course he hovers at the top of any drummers list, that’s not even that interesting to me. I can only address what he meant to myself. The sublime room ambience surrounding his sparse low Tom hits at the intro to “Show don’t Tell”, or the way he addressed topics ranging from Greek Mythology, to memories of a local park, to the passage of time. “It slips between your hands like water…this living in real time”. Indeed.

That happened in January, and 2020 evolved from that low point to its wretched self. Then October came. Only one musical hero could really surpass Mr. Peart for me. Only one death could really put an end to my sense of childhood as an untouchable universe that was safe from external forces. Eddie Van Halen left us.

THE Eddie Van Halen. My Eddie Van Halen. Van Halen was the perfect storm for me (and millions of others). The music spoke to something in my DNA. With those first six albums with the original group, I found what I didn’t know I was looking for. Van Halen wasn’t just the music, it was the smiles, it was the promise of fun, it was genius wrapped up in a “close enough is good enough” attitude. To me, the hand-made striped guitars are a great summation of Eddie’s personality. He had the instinct to make something unique, he had the talent to make a true work of graphic art out of his guitar. He also would, after all that painstaking work leave one stripe with a paint drip trailing off of it. He would haphazardly leave cigarette burns all over it, or cover control cavities with wads of electrical tape. Of course his guitar playing knocked the rock world back on its heels. The very first image most of us ever saw of him was the perfect shot. It conveyed ferocity, it conveyed mystery. When you picked up Van Halen’s debut, you knew instinctively “this guy isn’t gonna sound like Robby Krieger”.

Van Halen had been battling cancer for several years. He had it beaten for awhile, but the monster would not be denied forever. The band’s output had been sparse for the last several years (understandably), but as long as there was Eddie Van Halen out there the possibility for future magic remained. Now there are just the memories.

Tons of icons left our ranks in this shambling mess of a year. Continuing in music, we lost legends like drummer Frankie Banali, producer Martin Birch, Kenny Rogers, Peter Green, Charlie Daniels, Helen Reddy, Bill Withers, Little Richard…the list is long, and sobering. Outside of music, other legends of western culture also ended their chapters. Sean Connery and Alex Trebek were two prominent examples.

My own father passed away a few years ago, so I’ve had that major realization of mortality slapping you in the face. I’m not new to this, but perhaps it’s the larger than life quality I foolishly but eagerly assign to a few that makes it such a punch in the gut. Thankfully none of the people I’ve listed here were struck down in their youth. All of the people listed and more I didn’t list have left us gifts that can be enjoyed over and over. Some of the promise of “What if” is gone, but the gift of “What was” remains. Maybe that should be enough.

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