Constant Harmony

 A few weeks ago when Stephen Sondheim died, I toyed with the idea of writing one of my patented celebrity obituaries. I figured it would spin on something about "Send In The Clowns," and about how many of his words I have committed to memory. Then came the flood of tributes from musical theater aficionados who had a lot more to say on the subject. My own reflections paled by comparison. And in that moment, the window passed. But to be clear, I have nothing but admiration for the man and his work, and I say with certainty that he stomped on the Terra like few others. He will be missed. 

Which leads me to the genius of Michael Nesmith. One of two remaining Monkees. The one in the hat. When I came home this past Friday to the news of his passing, I started crafting the words I would use here. I will start by telling you that we asked one of our friends to sing a Mike Nesmith song at our wedding: Harmony Constant. It includes this refrain, "And the Harmony Constant in all of these things/Is the thought of the future with you." Which was a highly appropriate sentiment at the time, as well as giving me a somewhat smug feeling of being one of the only people I know to feature a Mike Nesmith song at their wedding. 

That smug feeling was hard won. Having been a Monkees fan from way back in my youth, I picked Mike as my favorite of the "pre-fab four." He wasn't the cute one, or the dumb one, or the Circus Boy. He was the one who seemed to be completely in on the joke. He was along for the ride, looking for a way to make himself heard. And seen. After the implosion of his television band, Mike took the path of solo artist, providing Linda Ronstadt with one of her earliest hits, "Different Drum," which appeared on his second non-Monkee release. Which is about how close "Papa Nez" came to having a hit of his very own. It was in elementary school that I adopted the knit hat look of my favorite Monkee. I still have the hat that I wore until my mother finally asked me to stop. 

And somewhere in there, I lost track of Mike Nesmith. But in 1979, he came roaring back into my life with his video for "Cruisin'," part of his experimental video album "Elephant Parts." A collection of skits and songs and whimsy from a man who emerged from beneath his own wool hat to become a pioneer in music video, and producer of cult favorite films like Repo Man and Tapeheads. And when I moved out to California, one of the first concerts I attended with my then-fiancée was Mike Nesmith on his Tropical Campfires tour. Not long after that, I was married to with the sounds of one of my favorite songs of his still ringing in my ears. 

So to say that Michael Nesmith truly stomped on the Terra. My Terra, specifically. His death at seventy-eight didn't seem to shock many who knew of his Christian Scientist upbringing and his declining health over the past few years. But it shook me. He was the Monkee who was friends with Frank Zappa, and along with his bandmate Mickey Dolenz brought Jimi Hendrix along on their tour in 1967. He was easily the coolest guy in the room. 

And he will be missed. Aloha, Mike. 

Unlimited joy, unlimited time
And the beauty of infinite light
Unlimited freedom that's rightfully mine
And is yours is unlimited life