I spend what is probably an unhealthy amount of time worrying about death — both my own, and those of the ones I love.
In my teens and early twenties a substantial string of tragedy among my peers presented the first stretch of repetitious death. Now that I’m in well into adulthood, it seems like folks are dying in exponentially greater numbers every year, thanks to the adverse effects of time.
To further remind me of this inevitable end, I recently acquired a new gig in the news business, so it’s even more ever-present in my mind that I’m — we’re all — just one car crash, one poorly chosen selfie backdrop, one random bullet away from eternal demise.
But one idea I have makes me think something kinda cool can come out of this unavoidable reality: my plan to make a sweet mixtape for people to remember me by.
Who says mixtapes are just for roadies and love interests?
Thing is, there are so many ways to approach it. A timeline of your life; songs with lyrics that have meaning to you; songs that have messages for the people who will get the mixtape. It could be a party mix for people to play at the all the good times you’ll no longer be able to attend, or it could just be songs you really dig.
Mine will be, no pun intended, the final option.
For me, The Rolling Stones’ "Waiting on a Friend," Greg Allman’s "These Days," White Stripes’ "Dead Leaves on the Dirty Ground," Pearl Jam’s "Off He Goes," Prince’s "Purple Rain," and Willie Nelson’s cover of "That Lucky Old Sun," would have to be on the thing. But those really just scratch the surface; there are so many songs to love.
I was actually working on this column prior to Chris Cornell’s death, and had already decided on Audioslave’s "I am the Highway" as my closer. I’d written that it works well as a final song because if there is a heaven, I hope the angels sing like him — plus, I feel like it has a lingering quality, like I hope my spirit will.
(I'm not sure if that's a weird thing to say in light of his suicide, but I stand by it.)
That song is so powerful and lovely, and it was my go-to jam back when the Pelican Pub was a proper dive and they had a really loud jukebox, even in the afternoons when I’d go after work. Chris Cornell’s soulful voice accompanying that slow-driving groove filled the small, dark bar, and all was well in the world, because simple pleasures.
Listen, I realize this may be a weird undertaking. But trust, friends, that it’ll be worth it to those who love you. Music is one of those things that make us feel deeply, so sharing your favorite songs seems like a precious thing to leave behind for people who will miss you hard, is all I’m saying.
I mean, if you can leave money, do that, but the Death Mixtape is pretty much the next best thing.
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This article appears in Jun 1-8, 2017.