What if you knew you were walking into the concert hall to hear a performer play his last notes to an audience? Would you get to the show early? Would you stay until the absolute last plastic cups and final kernels of popcorn had been retrieved by the clean-up crew? That song that didn’t get played that you wanted to hear, would you sing it with your concert crew, as you filed out of the theater?
How would you feel if, later that night, the artist had to detour on the way home as a result of a health emergency? Would you feel relieved when, the next day, he tweets “I am #transformed”?
What would you say when, less than a week after that show, you began to hear reports? Sketchily-detailed reports? Then confirmations? What do you say?
What do you remember? A favorite song? Is a song too much to think about at this moment? How about a poignant lyric? What remains? The notes, the lyrics, the music? Why do you feel the way you feel about the passing of someone you actually never met?
Was it the arrangements of notes and words that made you feel that you were better able to get through this thing? Maybe it was the uniqueness of the presentation? His flair? His ground-breaking, influence-making, apology-forsaking, double-taking style?
Why does it even matter? Is it because of the feelings that came from the music? Not just what it did to you, but what it did to other people, maybe even different than you? Did you like the music, or what it did for you, or to you, or for other people? Does it remind you of good times?
Was it not even about you, but did you see and hear something that is just exceptional, that you may never see and hear again? Was this so special that nothing really compares 2 it?
What if you knew?
What if when, you first sat in your seat that night, that you knew? What if when you clapped and clamored for an encore, you knew? What if you knew that it really was One. More. Song.
But, what if you had no idea?
In memory of Prince Rogers Nelson, 1958-2016: Innovator, Musician, Creator.