Daydream Believer -- Davy Jones -- Dead at 66

The Monkees were a major part of my pop culture upbringing and an early introduction to rock and roll for so many Generation-X’rs. I would rush home from St. Patrick’s Separate School at the end of the day just to see the Pre-Fab Four’s show. And even though I personally was a Mickey Dolenz fan, Davy Jones owned the hearts of the group’s female fan base.

Davy Jones passed away this morning. He suffered a heart attack in Florida. He was 66.

I remember my father mocking me and questioning why I liked the show and the music. It was clear from the beginning that inspiration for The Monkees was born from the fanatical success of The Beatles – and that The Monkees were ‘cast’ in their roles as members of a band. In the sixties, there was little appreciation for their music by the industry – partially because Jones and Dolenz along with Michael Nesmith and Peter Tork had little to no control over the music. That would change.



Nesmith and Tork were musicians. Jones, like Dolenz, was predominantly an actor. Born in London, young Davy Jones appeared on Coronation Street and played Dodger in a stage presentation of Oliver before beating out the likes of Danny Hutton (Three Dog Night) and Harry Nilsson for roles in the show. (Steven Stills was cast in ‘The Monkees’ but dropped out when he discovered he would have to sign over the rights to all of his songs – a lesson he learned… from The Beatles!)

Dolenz was the funny one. Tork the simple one. Nesmith was the leader. And Jones was the sweet one – the sometimes lead singer (they all took turns) that Marcia Brady and the rest of the world wanted to hug and kiss.

You could never underestimate the popularity of Davy Jones and The Monkees. They are the reason why English musician David Robert Jones had to change his name to David Bowie. And to be frank, the fanaticism that followed Davy Jones around was just as poignant as that of The Beatles, The Rolling Stones and other artists of that era.

What made Jones so endearing for me was his sense of humour and his obvious appreciation for his fame. Watch 1995’s big screen adaption of The Brady Bunch Movie. Like her Maureen McCormick counterpart, Christine Taylor’s Marcia also succeeds in getting Jones to perform at a school dance. But this is nearly thirty years after his pseudo 15-minutes of fame. And Jones plays the role just that way as Marcia’s middle-aged teachers rush the stage – all female of course.



A couple final thoughts:

A friend of mind had a band in the eighties. One of their signature songs was an almost punk version of “(I’m Not Your) Stepping Stone.” Great song. Great cover of the song. He wasn’t the only one to try this:



It shocked me a little when I heard that Davy Jones had passed away. Again, your own mortality kicks in. It’s a piece of my childhood gone.

Jones would have been 67 this year. My Dad turns 67 in two weeks. I’m not sure what reality is walloping me over the head more – the fact that he was still relatively young and very active (he’s just done a show in New York two weeks ago) or that he was the same age as my Father when he was driving around in that really cool Monkee-mobile cruising up and down Hollywood Boulevard. I wanted to be there too.

How Will I Know – Whitney Houston – Dead at 48.

I don’t know if there was ever a time when I thought listening to Whitney Houston was cool. In the eighties, her music and her videos were the essence of pop. And for a young man growing up with hair that was a little too long exploring everything from Springsteen to Def Leppard, Houstin wasn’t on my musical roadmap.

It was reported today that the singer died. She was only 48-years-old.

Only 48. Certainly the latter part of her life stole the spotlight from what was an impressive career. Her torrid relationship with Bobby Brown, her reported drug use and consequent abuse, and the questionable decline of the state of one of the most powerful voices in music – it all became almost more listenable than her music.

It’s always a shame when someone so young and so talented dies. But a couple of things flew through my mind as my smartphone sung out a tone telling me and the world that she was gone.

First she was labelled by the press as the Queen of Pop. The King of Pop was dead. Now, the Queen. Sadness revisited.

Second, she was only 48-years-old. Two-and-a-half years older than me. That’s it.

Mortality is the kind of thing that has the power to stop you in your proverbial tracks and make you think about where you’ve been and where you want to be. After all, she was just two-and-a-half years older than me when she was at the height of her fame. While she was ruling the world, I… wasn’t.

She sort of did rule the world, didn’t she? And she proved that she was more than just another pretty voice with a pretty face. Kevin Costner’s stone-cold stare aside, she really held her own acting-wise in ‘The Bodyguard.’

But eventually she would become fodder for Perez and The Soup; and her fame would eventually become infamy.

Remember her how you will – but remember her. Hell, I dare you to forget.