In his autobiography White Line Fever (written with journalist Janiss Garza), Motorhead kingpin Lemmy Kilmister writes about his fondness for Ozzy Osbourne’s late guitarist Randy Rhoads and how terrible he was at the videogame Asteroids. Lemmy also brings up the idea that death deified Rhoads, turning him into something greater than he once was.
“I have to say, he wasn’t the guitar player he became after his death,” Kilmister writes. “As with [performance artist] Bob Calvert, [who opened for Motorhead in the early days], a guy who was more or less ignored during his lifetime suddenly becomes a huge genius. Randy was a good guitar player, to be sure, but he wasn’t the great innovator he was later made out to be. When you die, you become more briliant by about 58 percent. You sell more records and you become absolutely wonderful.”
The argument holds water, but in the case of Rhoads, supporters argue true greatness was right around the corner — that he’d already established himself as a smoking heavy metal guitarist and he was getting ready to apply his knowledge of rock guitar to classical music and do something virtually unprecedented. Sadly, he stepped aboard that stupid plane and his future went up in flames.
As for others who have died before their time — who’s to say? Was Dimebag Darrell the absolute genius he’s made out to be? Probably. Did Kevin Dubrow deserve the accolades he got after he overdosed? Ummm. Was Cliff Burton a legend in the making or was he already a master when he died? And how come Alice in Chains’ Layne Staley, who wore his demons up his sleeve and meant more to the grunge scene than, perhaps Eddie Vedder, is largely viewed today as a pathetic junkie rather than a true visionary?
Rock your comments on the above, as well as Lemmy’s assertion that death equals fame. The most interesting submissions will be printed in a future post.
Now let’s give Lemmy some props for beating the odds and living so long:
