A colleague just appeared in front of my desk, and announced that Davy Jones has died.
First, a moment of silence.
I am shocked and saddened to hear of his sudden, and somehow inexplicable death. Back in the day, the Monkees were a bit of a cultural icon. Not in a huge way, but there wasn’t a kid I know that didn’t link arms and do that swinging leg walk singing “Hear we come…”. Or know all the words to “Daydream Believer”, “Last Train to Clarksville”, and “I’m not your Stepping Stone”.
The Monkees crazy antics were “Banana Splits” kooky, psychedelic in a somehow kid-friendly way. Or at least in an acceptable enough way that parents didn’t squawk when you watched them on TV. I remember listening to the Monkees in the basement at Janet Pratt’s house. We would steal the albums from her older sister Jane, play the music, and bake brownies (not psychedelic brownies!) in her Easy Bake oven. Janet would sing while the brownies baked, and I would play the piano. Piano is a loose term for that instrument. It was an old Fisher-Price keyboard, which of course made it cooler because I could walk around with it, a la rockstar.
The relative value of the Monkees (show) and the Monkees (music) can be debated, but I stand firm in my gratitude for the joy, fun and great memories the Monkees gave me. In December 2008, Yahoo Music named Jones “Number 1 teen idol of all time”. A lot of the girls I grew up with would have agreed! Thank you, Davy Jones, from a Daydream Bereaver. May you rest in peace.