Sleep, Drugs and Rock ‘n’ Roll

If only something major had happened in Los Angeles in the last week that I could write about. If only the world’s most famous person had unexpectedly passed away leaving a city and indeed a world in utter hysteria.

To be honest it was the last thing I wanted to even entertain writing about. Simply because so much has been said, written, speculated and assumed, both rightly and wrongly by just about every media outlet on the face of the earth. Songs have been played, tears have flowed and sympathies offered. But so many people have asked me my thoughts and what it was like to live in the same city as the incredible events. And when someone of this magnitude dies in your own backyard, a man that even had countries, like Korea and Cuba, offering condolences then you realise that it is indeed a momentous event. It shows that music, and the geniuses behind it, have the power like no other, to bring the world together to dance to a different beat.

Sadly, in the past week, Los Angeles has seen the passing of almost a half dozen revered figures. Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett, MJ of course, Billy Mays (whom those overseas won’t know, but here is regarded as the face of Infomercials) and today ‘Mr American Express Card’ – Oscar and Emmy winner Karl Malden. It’s a shame that the life and times four of these will probably not get the recognition they truly deserve simply because of timing. Mind you, it may well be just the thing the families and friends of these iconic figures need, to take the intense media scrutiny off them at such a difficult time.

Personally I don’t get that emotionally involved in the lives of celebrities or the work that they do. Great movies are great movies and great songs are great songs. And whilst I do have a healthy respect and admiration for the artist responsible, I by no means feel that they changed my life. That may well be my loss, and I certainly hold no grudge against anyone who feels a certain closeness to a celebrity for whatever reason, but I have to say the level of hysteria in LA surrounding the death of Michael Jackson has been surreal to say the least. To know that tens of thousands of people were literally 2 miles from my house surrounding his star on the walk of fame, being herded through cattle fences to pay their last respects, was astonishing. Not at the outpouring of emotion, but at the way such a coordinated effort was pulled together in such a short amount of time. Witnessing the helicopter carrying his body from the hospital to the coroners flying over my backyard with half a dozen news helicopters following like mosquitoes following a trail of blood, was an interestingly morbid sight. Sadly I can say that the circus has only just begun. Of course it is impossible to defame the dead, and so no doubt we will hear from every nanny, nurse, security guard, assistant and anyone else willing to cash in on being able to put in their two cents on what the private life of a monumental celebrity was like. Which is such a shame that at this time; when we should be celebrating the legacy of the man and his music, we will instead be distracted and even mortified by the media parasites only too keen to describe in detail the trashy legal battles and salacious rumours that will now ensue.

Now I don’t have the talent to make light of death like the professionals so I will leave it to the genius of Jon Stewart.

But here’s what I do find interesting. Have we turned a corner in the way that celebrities are losing their lives? Sure, it’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last time that a celebrity has lost their life seemingly to a concoction of drugs – be they prescription or illicit. But now it seems that instead of using drugs to escape reality with a high, or to party longer or to stay up later or to bring on some kind of hallucinogenic trip, people are trying to emulate the effect of the greatest drug of all. Sleep. It’s apparently the new high. Heath Ledger was rumoured to have been suffering sleep deprivation and was taking drugs to help him get some rest. Today I hear that Michael Jackson was apparently requesting to have Propofol administered intravenously by an anesthesiologist to help him sleep. True or not, funnily enough the subject of sleep has been a conversation point of the last month amongst other actors that I have spent time with. I recall one such actor coming to rehearsal a few weeks ago and proclaiming to the rest of us that he had just found the best drug in the world and that we should all try it as that morning he was feeling so awake and energised. The ‘drug’ he was referring to was a full 8 hours sleep the night before. And he hadn’t taken anything to induce such blissful rest. It was simply the wondrous feeling of being able to get to bed at a reasonable hour and have an uninterrupted sleep the way God intended. I mean come on, even he rested on the 7th day. The big man allowed himself a day off, a good solid sleep in and no doubt settled back with a coffee and the Sunday papers.

Have our lives become that stressful and hectic that the ability to spend 8 hours of good solid sack time has become Willy Wonka’s golden ticket? And it seems that it has gotten so bad for some that they are willing to go to great lengths to get it. Even at the accidental expense of their own lives – which is of course a sleep you never wake up from.

So over the course of the next few weeks I beg you all to ignore the media frenzy, negative innuendo and speculation and simply celebrate, in your own way, the lives, the talents and achievements of not only those that have passed, but those that are still on this earth. Lets remember those that were great, praise those that are great, encourage those that on the verge of greatness and nurture those who believe that they will never be great.

And for God’s sake get some sleep.