Isolation

I'm sitting at my desk listening to Sponge's excellent cover of John Lennon's "Isolation." Every once in a while, I steal a sip of Bushmills from the rocks glass to my right. I lean back and let the flavor melt into my palette as I think about Mike Starr and what his death means to me.

For those of you who don't know, which I'm sure is disproportionately larger than those who do, Mike Starr was the founding bassist for 90's stalwarts Alice in Chains. His body was found in his Salt Lake City home. He was 44.

No cause of death has been released yet, but for those who followed his chronic difficulties with substance abuse, it will most likely be a short line from point A to point B.

Its been the better part of a decade and a half since Starr was a member of Alice in Chains. Still, this has to come as a blow to fans who cut their fanatical eyeteeth on Dirt. The sad and slow death of singer Layne Staley would have been well documented had he done anything other than heroin. Instead, he dropped out and shot up, never to be seen ever again until his body was found after one last eightball.

Admittedly, I was never a fan of Alice in Chains. Which is not meant to put them down. Out of all the Seattle bands, their music seemed friendliest to lost metalheads adrift in a sea of alternative music. Even Soundgarden, probably their closest kin in terms of metal cross-over, seemed cerebral next to the inherent primality of their work.

And I suppose its that primal element to their work that makes them a hard listen for me. In a lot of ways, their music reminds me of losses in my own life that bear no resemblence save a similar shaped darkness.

A toast to absent friends, then.