When I tell people of my affection for the group’s music or that when I was a lead guitarist, Adamson’s distinct use of the “Scottish snap” rhythm was the primary influence on my soloing style, the reaction is bemusement or laughter. To North Americans of my age group Big Country is, sadly, a leftover cultural gimmick consigned to eighties dance nights a joke to many. Adamson was one of the greatest cultural figures to come out of Scotland, whether the Scottish people recognize this or not, and his artistic legacy is to be celebrated. Unbeknownst to me and other fans, Adamson, who had seemed a strong, energetic, positive character, had, as people do, his own private sorrows that led him to take his own life, thus robbing us of any further offerings of his distinct blend of passion, humanism and lyricism. I’d been a fan in my youth of his band, Big Country, and had followed the band’s career up to the mid-nineties. I remember what room I was in, what time of day it was, in December 2001 when I read that he’d died. George Harrison was one such Grant McLennan was another. When that musician died, a little part of me and many other people went with him. Every now and then a musician has passed on and it’s hit me in a strange, profound way, as though the significance of this musician’s art was so great to my psyche and my development as a sentient being that I didn’t even realize it. My attitude is pretty well scornful toward this sort of exhibitionism, and the death of a famous guy or gal generally doesn’t do anything to me at all why would it? Still, I’m not made of stone. People love to mourn celebrities, both major and minor it’s practically a Facebook sport to see who can out-RIP everyone else in their grief over stars they’ve never met. They entered our lives through their art, which has penetrated our souls far deeper than we ever thought. We have no idea what they were like to live with.
That’s a testament to the power that art has over our emotional selves we don’t know these artists personally. And some people remember the day they heard one of their favourite artists had died. We remember what we were doing the morning of 9/11. We all remember lots about our wedding day.
Sure, some people’s power of recall, including the actual feelings of a moment, is better than others, but let’s face it, the past is a hazy place. I think there are few single days, or moments of days, that we can remember in our lifetimes with a degree of real clarity.
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