The recent posthumous pardon of Jim Morrison for his "lewd acts" in Miami, in addition to an email from a dear friend, has sent my mind on a journey that I haven't been on in some time. Some of the most talented rock stars, the ones we lost so prematurely, seem to have a grim statistic in common: dead at the age of 27.
Their music, and my memories, have been swirling in mind the past few days. An odd, and sad, soundtrack underlying my flashbacks to MY 27th year. I died my own sort of death that year, with a crisis the likes of which I have never experienced before or since. The miracle of one singer, of one CD, pulled me through. And luckily, she is not yet dead. Alanis Morissette has passed her 27th year, as have I, and we are not statistics. Her "Jagged Little Pill" album single-handedly, slowly, pulled me out of my 27th-year haze and into the future. And, yes, I doubled up on the Alanis just because she and her music mean so much to me.
Because these artists have contributed so much to my life story, I offer here two performances by each that touch me and haunt me the most. I hope you like them. I will never forget.