I could probably write a paper on this whole thing (putting my English degree to good use, I suppose), but who wants to read the ramblings of a 37-yr old guy who has grown up from the days when everything a rock star wore or said influenced his life on a daily basis? I'm now a boring guy approaching middle age. I have my first kid on the way. Tastes and priorities change.
Scott Weiland's death impacts me in several ways. I mourn for a guy who I once cared so much about. To see him slowly crumble from his past glories to the sad, near 50-yr old man who just couldn't ever seem to pull his life together. I have my opinions on the drug war and how we treat addicts, but we live in the world we live in, and how we all deal with life must occur within the confines of the time we live in. At one point, Scott, to me, was the epitome of cool. In death, he's someone I felt sorry for. And then there's all the people he left behind, tearing gaping holes in their universe.
Ultimately, the door closing on his life serves as a metaphor for the door closing on my youth. I may not have a radio song, but now I am the one with a wife and (almost) kid to tell me what's wrong. All the things I once thought were so important I now realize were not. People are complicated, and I can separate talent and what made Scott great from all of his problems. I can admire the former and learn from the latter.
If Scott can give me anything as he survives only in spirit, it will be continued joy in listening to his beautiful music for the rest of my life. But he will also serve as an example of what I never want to do, and is to simply give up.
I feel very much the same as Brett. I mean, I didn't interview him, but I did "meet" him less than two weeks before he died. "Met" because what actually happened was I got to stand beside the worn and broken, empty body of Scott Weiland and take a photo. I, too, wish I could have done something to help, although I know there is absolutely nothing I (or anyone) could have done to stop or prevent what was about to happen. I left that night wishing I could take him home, draw him a hot bath, feed him a spaghetti dinner, and tuck him into a clean bed. I wanted to mother him - to protect him. He broke my heart that night.
He still breaks my heart tonight. It's still hard on me. 15 years worth of insane once-in-a-lifetime experiences. Memories of a lucid, sweet, generous and incredible man who I miss very, very much. I find STP hard to listen to. Most of it leaves a bad taste in my mouth anymore and makes me feel yucky. I have an easier time with his solo stuff, but often find that it leaves my heart heavy. No more new albums. No more new music. Will I ever feel that magical teenage excitement again? Dammit, Scott.
Hate that you guys are still having a rough time too.
Forgive me, but I didn't realize you saw him again that close to his death. Did he remember you or did you have a chance to talk about it?