Rant #2,093: I Wanna Be Free

Davy Jones left us six years ago today.

Well, kind of six years ago today.

He died on February 29, so since we won't see another February 29 until the year 2020, I personally chose today to honor his memory.

One of the all-time top teen idols--if not the top one, because at least in America, he never broke out of that mold, most often playing into it--Jones was not my favorite Monkee, he was not my favorite singer ... he had his skeletons in his closet and his own personal demons to deal with, so he was not as perfect as some made him out to be.

But when he was on stage entertaining, he was seemingly the most comfortable, and he let it all hang out when he was performing.

I do remember him falling off the rotating stage at Westbury Music Fair as he performed with bandmates Peter Tork and Micky Dolenz, falling squarely on his arm, and so very nonchalantly dusting himself off as he returned to the stage to finish out the show. He was probably very uncomfortable, as he was later diagnosed with a broken arm.

But the show came first, and he was a real trooper that night.

I saw him during one of the final shows he did as part of a Teen Idol tour several years ago at the same venue. Rumors had been flying that he had had enough of the tour, because he was promised things that were not delivered--I think he did not like the format of the show, or something to that extent--and during this one show, you could tell he was not a happy camper, in particular compared to Peter Noone and Bobby Sherman, who were each having a great time on stage.

He simply could not hide his anger at what he thought was wrong, and he left the tour soon afterward.

So yes, Davy Jones was a complex person, more than we think most teen idols are. We kind of think of them almost as windup dolls, who sing, flash their eyes and their perfect teeth on cue, and basically walk on clouds and live the life of a teen idol 24/7.

Jones was certainly not that, not that by a very wide margin.

He took what he did very seriously, whether he was acting the teen idol as part of a Monkees tour or performing as part of a holiday panto in his native England.

To get away from it all, he had relocated to a small town in Pennsylvania, where he lived for many years with his true love, his horses.

Jones married and divorced a couple of times, had children (all daughters), and as he was easing into his mid 60s, he seemed quite content to be the teen idol when he needed to be.

But then he passed away, and the shock of it all really came out, from the millions of fans that he had to even those he worked with on stage, in the recording studio, and on TV.

With Jones leaving us way too soon, our own childhood finally went out the door too.

I think the same thing happened when David Cassidy died; to some, his passing meant that our childhoods were finally over.

That is how I personally felt when Jones died. He seemed to have bottled the fountain of youth--he always looked way younger in age than he actually was--but when his time came, it didn't matter.

Here is what I had to say in Rant #685, February 29, 2012, upon hearing the news that Davy Jones had died.

"On that September Monday night in 1966, my sister and I turned on our old Dumont black and white TV, which was in our living room when we lived in Rochdale Village, Queens, New York.

It was 7:30 p.m., and a new show was debuting that looked pretty interesting to this nine year old's eyes.

Just a few years before, I had fallen in love with the Beatles. Not love like you are thinking, but I thought the Beatles were the coolest things ever.

They had started to get a little weird by 1966, and while I wasn't losing interest, I needed something new to enrapture me--and I found it on that September night.

My sister and I fell lock, stock and barrel for Peter, Micky, Mike and Davy, the Monkees! There was something fresh about this show that we really liked. It was like watching a live action cartoon, and with rock and roll music!

We were in heaven on earth here.

My mother ran out and bought their records for us, like "Last Train to Clarksville" and "I'm a Believer." The first record I ever bought with my own money was "A Little Bit Me, A Little Bit You," which I bought at the Kress store in Rochdale's first mall.

And Davy was the lead singer on that tune.

My sister covered her walls with Davy Jones pictures and posters. I preferred Mike Nesmith, but I really didn't mind Davy Jones at all.

He played the tambourine and sang in my favorite rock band!

But the problem was that the growing rock establishment looked upon the Monkees as a canard, a farce, a joke.

Sure, the foursome was talented, but they didn't have to work up the ladder to get to the top. They were cobbled together for a TV show, were given songs to sing, and heck, they didn't even play their own instruments early on!

But you know, I really didn't care. The Monkees were making music for my generation of kids, kids born from about 1955 to 1960. We were their target, and they hit the bull's eye.

And through it all, Davy Jones was probably the least respected of the bunch. Some said he couldn't sing, some said he didn't have any rock chops.

But they were wrong, oh how wrong they were."

Davy Jones lives on through his recordings, "The Monkees" TV show, and through YouTube, where you can find seemingly just about every video known to exist of Jones, who started out as a kid actor in England and rose to heights few achieve during his lifetime.

Like I said earlier, it has been six years since he has left us. Time goes so quickly, and Jones crammed a lot into his 66 years on this earth.

Like bandmate Mike Nesmith said at Jones' passing, "We were Davy Jones' backup band [paraphrase]," and who could deny that?

Davy Jones WAS the Monkees. When we think of them, we automatically think of Jones out front, banging his tambourine to the beat of the music, even if he wasn't the lead singer on the particular track in question.

And that is a wonderful memory, it really is.

Davy, you done good. R.I.P.