A tribute to Dimebag Darrell. Lots of music and musical analysis at the link, which goes to my son John's blog. (And by the way, I attended that Pantera concert of which he speaks).
AND: Here are my posts from 10 years ago: "Metal Massacre" and "The death of Darrell Abbott." I wrote the second post because reader had commented to say he was amazed that I'd gone to a Pantera concert.
Pantera was beyond the limit of what I really wanted to hear, but they were undeniably great at what they were doing, and I admired the intense commitment to that extreme form of music. I enjoyed watching the show, including the crowd of kids who just loved them, but I was watching as more of an objective outsider....The news of Abbott's murder came on a day when I was saying don't celebrate death days:
I'm genuinely tired of commemorating murders! And I'm tired of the trite "I remember where I was" reminiscing. Yeah, I remember where I was when I heard John Lennon died: in bed turning on the radio in the morning. I have an identical story to tell about me and Bobby Kennedy. But Bobby Kennedy's death isn't about me, nor is John Lennon's. But I've had enough of it, really. I've been asked a thousand times do you remember where you were when you heard President Kennedy got shot, and I feel like saying, no actually I'm the only one who went ahead and forgot that scintillating fact. But I always say, "I was in a stairwell." But, so what? I remember being in a stairwell, but so the hell what? After forty years, what are we talking about?I stand by that position. But I'm still blogging about Dimebag Darrell today, because it's a 10-year anniversary.