A while ago, I thought I was dying.
I was in the gym on an upright bike and I noticed that I couldn’t see the edges of my vision any more. They just weren’t there. I could see straight ahead but that was it. I wobbled across to the gym worker who took me to their Feeling A Bit Peaky room. After a couple of questions, he patiently told me that I was just about to faint cos I hadn’t had any food that day and had decided that was perfect before a strenuous workout.
I was relieved that I wasn’t dead. But I was more relieved that I hadn’t died in the gym. On a fucking exercise bike. Can you think of a more dull, watery, grey death? It’s even worse than dying quietly in your sleep. That at least implies a soul looking at their life’s achievements sanguinely and thinking, ‘Ahhh, I can do no more on this Earthly plane, time to move on to Other Places.’
On a bike, in a gym is just dreadful. It’s not even on a bike on a road. That has a frisson of terror because most of us have had bike crashes and we know they’re godawful.
Also, because the only thing I’m known for is Your Woman, if it was reported at all, it’d be something like ‘PORKY ONE HIT WONDER DIES OF PIES.’ And there’d be a photo of me and a pie, with the pie looking scared.
It started me thinking: what is a good death for a musician? What ways are exciting enough to make for both a spicy coda to the symphony of life and a racy headline to gawp at before wrapping it round some haddock and a suspiciously penisy saveloy?
And now, in reverse order, here are the best ways to die if you’re a musician:
10. Mauled by a bear
The first few deaths are not very musical but they are very, very memorable. Can you imagine the pub banter?
“Remember that bloke that did that song?”
“No…?”
“He got fucking mauled to death by a bear!”
Cue general chuntering and searching of all past catalogue releases.
9. Chomped in half by a shark
This requires you to both be fit enough to surf and to be in Australia or somewhere that’s got a lot of hungry sharks. You’re not gonna manage this one at Skeggy. That being said, once you’re in Australia, it’s just a matter of time before something takes you out; insanely poisonous spider, insanely poisonous fish, insanely poisonous brick. You should probably get a cab straight to the beach as soon as you land.
8. Eaten by a tiger
As an Indian, this one holds a special place in my heart. It gives me warm fuzzies.
I would be both returning to my roots and helping the survival of a very endangered species.
Top, top points if the tiger is a mama and I become mansa for the lil cubs.
7. Shot by a jealous partner
It’s a classic. You can’t go wrong with the classics. You’re in bed with your current squeeze, working methodically through Tantra For Dummies and then their actual partner bursts through the door, gun in hand. BLAM BLAM! You’re dead and your musical infamy is guaranteed. You’ll probably end up as a Trivial Pursuit question, too.
6. Plummet to death from hotel room
Now we’re getting a bit more rock’n’roll, a bit more mad, bad and dangerous to know. Overbrimming with existential despair, Weltschmerz and Orly airport brioches, you throw a wobbly and trash your room. Triumphantly, you rip the huge TV from the wall and throw it through the window, only to realise at the last minute that the fucking HDMI has wrapped around your leg like a python and out the window you go.
5. Killed by the mob for disturbing the capo on the day of his daughter’s wedding
Does the mob still control the careers of all the top musicians in these days of digital and streaming? How exactly do you threaten an algorithm? I’m saying nowt but I do know that there are some days you just don’t ask Lenny Legbreaker for a favour, capisce?
4. Squashed in a freak accident live on telly
You’re doing well. You’re not doing headlining Glasto well but you’re fifth on the bill at Reading doing well. You know what you need to do to elevate the band to headlining rock legends: stunts. So, radiomic in hand, you start scaling that stack of PA cabs at the left of the stage like a shouty Peter Parker until you realise with livid dismay that they haven’t been secured for clambering. Falling and screeching, you are squished flat on live telly underneath two tonnes of not-neodymium drivers. Your sudden passing leaves an indelible mark on your fans’ hearts and quite a persistent stain on the main stage too.
3. Struck by lightning while headlining Glastonbury
Now, this is the business. You’ve worked hard, you’ve done the toilet tours, you have tinnitus, multiple hernias and addiction issues – all the hallmarks of a true musician. Now is your time. This is your night. As the raging intro to your song dies down and you step up to the mic, the crowd shivers into silence, bewitched by your bewildering vogueing. Overhead thunder rumbles. It is perfect. You open your mouth to deliver the first line of what will be, surely, the most seminal live show ever and in that instant a freak fork of lighting reaches down to your IEMs and sends 300 million volts at 30,000 amps through your bonce. Your head explodes as your brain is parbouillired like an illegal French delicacy. ROCK LEGEND.
2. Heart attack while trying to satisfy the sexual needs of an entire football team
Musicians are nothing if not inordinately randy and thus, once you have enough pulling power and the charisma of a young and very, very wealthy Rasputin, you are going to hump everything in sight. This is partly dependent on your proclivities and what wobbly bits you’ve got, of course, but it’ll include humans, hoovers, fruit, vegetables, wedding-sized trays of Tiramisu, industrial concrete vibrators and then, obviously, entire sports teams. And you would have been fine with that but you just had to go and try to do the mascots too, didn’t you? Headlines for years and bonus spin-off books for every player you death-shagged.
1. Capsule burns up on re-entry
Glasto? Pah! Great Wall Of China live simulcast? Feh!
No, you are the first musician to play the first official United Nations approved GIG IN SPACE. Just to get you up there and playing live to the entire world took the co-operation of every space agency and a level of bribery from your management that would make BP blush. We’re talking petrochemical levels of suborning the world’s governments here. But you did it, you made it and your music will go down forever in Earth History. You’ve never imagined something like this, even in your most deranged, egomaniacal fantasies, of which you’ve had more than a few. However, this time your dream of humanity uniting in love of you and your heartfelt songs about masturbation and monkeys looking funny has come true. They love you, they really do. You almost feel happy. The whole event has almost plugged that gaping, ragged hole at the centre of your core that is always empty, always screaming like a lonely banshee for attention, for praise, for love.
As you’re pondering this almost-contentment, there is a tremor through the craft. An alarm starts thweeping. The seat belt signs start blinking. You look out of your window and see the shuttle wing crumple like newspaper before it detaches with a thump you feel through your feet.
The heatshield sloughs away as your shuttle tumbles through the atmosphere. In the last few seconds before die, you realise that the people down on Earth will see you tonight, and forever, as a shooting star.
You smile.
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