RIP Keith Flint

The world discovered that The Prodigy's Keith Flint passed away a few hours ago. He was found dead in his home at the age of 49. Media reported that his death was not suspicious. That usually means one of two things: suicide or a drug overdose. I was hoping for something else. Rhones suggested that it could have been a heart attack.

I'm not the biggest Prodigy fan in the world. I only have a couple of their songs on JJJ compilations and the Breathe CD single. I've never seen them live either. In fact, I remember walking out of the 2009 Big Day Out in Perth just as their set was kicking off. 

But when fellow band member Liam Howlett revealed in an Instagram post that Keith had indeed taken his own life, it really hit me. A huge sense of grief just welled up in me, and I'm not sure what really triggered it.

I've always found the way we react to celebrity deaths as a society very fascinating. Someone we have never met or spoken with can be so important to our lives that they leave a gap when they pass. There are those who will deride such actions, and offer a debate of whether a famous person's death deserves more attention or mourning than children dying from diseases in a third world country or victims of another shooting massacre in the USA. 

I think that one of the reasons I got so moved by Liam's words about Keith was that he was describing how he felt. Suicide leaves behind a lot an unanswered questions. The whys and hows aside, one thing that someone who has lost a loved one to suicide might ask themselves is 'what could I have done to prevent this?'.

The Prodigy recently toured Australia and New Zealand. Their last show was in Auckland on the 5th of February this year. Keith had only been home for a month or so. Being in a band myself, if I woke up to the news that one of my bandmates had taken their life, it would devastate me. In addition to sharing a stage, you spend a lot of time together. Sometimes you travel to a gig together, and there's breaks between sets. You get to know each other. You find out what's happening in each other's lives. I like to think that I am the kind of person that people can confide in. I usually don't have an issue talking about what someone is going through, and I'm happy to be the shoulder that gets cried on. It's so important to have someone you can talk to if you're experiencing depression or anxiety or both.

Having lost my own mother to suicide, I'm probably a little more sensitive and empathetic towards friends and families of those who have taken their own lives. You go through a lot of emotions. I struggled to deal with my mum's death. Well, to be honest, I didn't really try to. I was so determined not to let it affect me that it did. I became emotionally stunted. I overreacted (or under-reacted) to certain situations. Being diagnosed with autism a little over a year ago has informed me of how I handled some issues as I grew up as well. We're all just little pieces held together with sticky tape and string after all.

Bottom line, don't be afraid to seek help. It's one of the most important things you could ever do to move forward out of the hole of depression and anxiety.

Death of a Celebrity

I've become quite fascinated with how differently people react when a celebrity dies. If there's some sort of connection to the passed person, the loss can be quite devastating. It's always a sad thing to learn of somebody's death, but is it strange to mourn for somebody you don't know? Someone you have never even met?

There are some who get on their high-horse and berate others who grieve for the famously dead. Sometimes they'll offer up victims of a massacre or natural disaster and ask if their deaths are any less significant. Death is never a happy occurrence, and ironically, it's always going to be a part of life.

When David Bowie died in January this year, it hit me really hard. I think that it was the most that I'd ever been affected by a celebrity death. I couldn't do much else but listen to album after album of his, and was moved to tears several times. Losing Prince over the weekend has stirred some of those feelings up in me again. I was a much bigger Bowie fan, but I still loved Prince, and was lucky enough to have seen him at the Perth Arena in February. To lose both of these amazing artists in the first four months of this year is nothing short of tragic. A huge loss to the music industry, as well as the human race. But what makes us take their passing so personally? I think I might have worked it out.

Artwork of Bowie and Prince by Scarlett River  

When you become a fan of someone's music, you begin to take in part of that person. They're sharing pieces of their soul, their beliefs, their emotions, their very being. If you connect with a set of lyrics that seem to describe exactly how you're feeling or what you're going through, you feel empathy from the songwriter. Sometimes you even feel relief that someone else has experienced the same thing, and you're not as alone as you once seemed to be.

For many, music is a form of therapy. How many of us spent our angsty teenage years in our bedrooms, lost in some moody tunes or cathartic melodies? If you have trouble turning to somebody when you're going through some sort of personal crisis, music is always there. Music can help you wallow in your sadness or even lift you out of your dark funk. Music carries you through the tough times and then lets you surf over the good times. Music is universal. It means many things to many people.

It's been suggested by some that the music and movies that we love as teenagers stay intrinsically linked to us as we get older In those years we are at our most impressionable, and it's easy for our developing minds to form an attachment to actors, singers, artists, performers or who-have-you. We look to those people for escapism or solace or energy. Despite never actually meeting David Bowie or Prince, millions of people felt a connection to them. Their lives aren't any more or less valuable than the poor souls who perished in that landslide, but their reach is vast. People in countries they never toured through would possibly still know their music.

The one comfort we can take when an artist we love dies, is the legacy they leave. We're very lucky to have been left so much music, art, film and literature by artists who are no longer with us. While it might sadden us to listen to a particular song or watch a certain film role, it's always worth remembering that, for the most part, this is probably what that person loved doing the most. It drove them. It was their passion. It was their love. We all can take a little piece of that love, whether they are with us or not.