R.I.P.: Remembering The 27 Club - Jimi, Jim, Janis, Kurt...
As a student of rock music since he was born and sat in front of MTV and VH1, Craig's Hlist has grown up hearing constant aching throb of the number 27, the end-marker for a collection of rockers who died at that hallowed age, due mostly to their own chemical and/or personal misadventures.
Yesterday CHL turned 28 years old, beating the 27 Club and crossing an imaginary line we had in our heads since last April. It was a fun, sad, and altogether productive year. The closest we probably got to dying at 27 was probably our birthday party, gun-range visits, and the hellish death-ride that we take every morning on Highway 290 coming in to work.
Seriously, learn to use your turn signals.
It's not even that CHL lives some grandiose fate-tempting lifestyle, but 27 was a big number. Look at it again in its printed form. It looks mean, like two scythes lined up together. The sharp edges of the seven, and the grim hook of the two lashing out at you and your young, dumb mortality.
Of all the saddest stories on this list, the one that strikes CHL the most, besides Cobain selfishly leaving his daughter without a father and Mr. Mojo Risin' dying bearded and chubby in a French bathtub, is Minutemen front man D. Boon falling out his tour van and breaking his neck.