Davy Jones - Rest in Peace

At some point, as you get older, it gets redundant to say that a piece of your childhood has been lost. I mean, how long can things hold on. Cars wear out. Buildings crumble. Stadiums fall down. Icons pass.

But today, I truly did lose a piece of my childhood with the passing of former Monkee Davy Jones. I’m not the least bit ashamed to admit that, growing up, my two favorite groups were the Beatles and the Monkees. I mean, I practically invented Karoake standing on the back step “stage” of my old house in Queens, plastic guitar in hand, lip-synching to the “More of the Monkees” and “A Hard Day’s Night.” In fact, to this day, they are the only two albums from my childhood that I have actually had to replace due to simply wearing them out.

Granted, the Monkees started out as a blatant way to capitalize on the Beatles popularity, but given that we’re still talking about them and playing their records 45 years on should indicate that they were clearly more than just a made-for-TV spoof. The bottom line is that, in their time, the Monkees were a probably more novelty act than musical act, but in OUR time, they were a time capsule to all that we loved about growing up.

They were irreverent. They were handsome. They work cool clothes. And they had an absolutely bitchin’ car. They didn’t seem to work too hard, and when they did, they played rock and roll. Who wouldn’t want to be a Monkee.

And, hell, Davy got to kiss Marcia Brady. Not once, but twice (“how about the flipside?” he asked.). Davy and Marcia Brady – an image that is burned permanently into the core of my memory.

It seemed that most of the Monkees tunes that still stand out for me were “Davy” songs – “Look Out (Here Comes Tomorrow”, “Valleri”, “Daydream Believer”. I don’t know why, but his voice somehow appealed to me (again, he was British as were the Beatles, so I probably made some sort of connection there.)

As the years went on, I guess, most of us never really thought about the Monkees. They were always there, like electricity. Somehow you never think about electricity until the lights go out. And today, one of the lights of my childhood has gone out.

Rest in peace, Davy. Thanks for being a big part of my childhood and for making the maracas a cool instrument to play.