In 63 days I am going to turn 30. It's weird. I know that thirty is an arbitrary number, a nice round figure. I know that I've already had my thirtieth xmas, my thirtieth Easter and my thirtieth new years.
Yet still I feel like it's an impetus to assess my life. I feel like I've done alright. I look after myself financially and have a job that I can tolerate (I doubt I'd be happy doing any job) and am responsible for nobody but me. Which gives me freedom to do (or not do) all the things i want.
There is one thing that bugs me though. A reasonable number of people i admire died before they made thirty. And their legacy lives today.
Hendrix died at 27 as did Kurt Cobain and Jim Morrison. Hendrix as a guitarist had such a ridiculously intimate relationship with his guitar. Could pull sounds out of it that still sound crazy, hooks that are as sharp as any pop music Ohrwurm and could even make setting it on fire sound good.
I pity teenagers that had to grow up without Cobain's take on isolation. Less direct and more brooding than Morrissey; Cobains lyrics are those of a wounded animal that hasn't yet decided whether to crawl off and die or to strike and right it's wrong.
Jim Morrisson used to get arrested often for obscenity for putting the word fuck into the crescendo of The End. Hip Hop would be nothing without his shining example.
Heath Ledger never made 30, neither did Gram Parsons. Ledger's Joker in The Dark Knight is stunning and manic and by all accounts the product of an intense workaholic. Your record collection will not be complete till you own a copy of Grievous Angel. Its intermingling of fast storming tracks with heartbreaking tragic ballads such as $1000 Wedding and Love Hurts (Spotify links) provokes to this day.
All of which feels a bit palling sometimes but then i remember that i'm soon to outlive Sylvia Plath. Maybe i didn't write Nevermind or People are Strange or In My Hour of Darkness or play Glastonbury or the Isle of Wight Festival or sing with Emmylou Harris or through the simple epicness of my music convince Bob Dylan to change from acoustic to electric guitar... but at least i didn't inflict The Bell Jar on the world. The most awful self indulgent whingy miserable excuse of a novel ever written.
At least i didn't do that to the world.
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