Death of the Daydream Believer

Words cannot express the heartbreak I  feel about the loss of  my beloved Davy.

What can I say about the death of Davy Jones that has not already stated by his multitudes of Monkees fanatics? Not much but I’ll try since I loved him so much.

It’s like a piece of my childhood and young adulthood has been ripped from my heart since I received THE TEXT last Wednesday at one o’clock when the following message appeared on my I-phone. Hope you are well. Did you hear about Davy Jones? Well, for a teacher friend whom I hardly ever hear from to be getting in touch in the middle of a working afternoon, I knew something was up. Clicked on safari on my I-phone and there was the worst possible news imaginable, MONKEE DAVY JONES DEAD FROM A HEART ATTACK.

For years, I fantasized about marrying the cute little Monkee with the adorable English accent. Yes, he was now a sixty six year old grandfather and aging teen idol but to me he will always be that adorable moptop with stars in his eyes singing those sweet ditties like, “I’ll Love You Forever” and “It’s Nice to be With You.” Marcia Brady’s coolest prom date, my beautiful, perfect little Monkee man with the great big smile,  pure-sounding voice is dead? No freaking way. He was just in town a few weeks earlier at BB King’s. It was on a Saturday night and I was going to go and reconnect with him but figured, Nah, just saw him last June when he reunited with Micky and Peter. You heard him the previous fall live  at BB’s. Don’t worry. He’ll be back again this summer.

Davy usually made at least one NY area appearance a year. During last June’s 45^th anniversary Monkee show at the Beacon Theater, the three guys never sounded better. The production was smooth and polished. Nice video clips and an awesome, sold-out enthusiastic audience who were all thrilled to see them back together and were treated to a terrific trip down the proverbial Monkee memory lane. It was a Love-fest and always was at Davy’s or Monkees’ shows.

One of the greatest pop bands ever--no matter what the "critics" say.

 I HATE when anyone says the Monkees were not a real band. They started out as a rip off of the Beatles but ended up turning out some of the best and most recognizable pop songs ever. The Monkees were all really talented musicians. Their songs were written by some of the most talented and respected American songwriters ever. (Carole King, Neil Diamond and the duo of Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart are not exactly musical chopped liver). The Monkees even wrote some of their own original music. In concerts, they'd sing and perform with their own instruments. (At last year’s Beacon, the Monkees were backed up by a band but Micky would alternate from drums to guitar while Peter strummed his guitar). They may have started out as a show about a band. But the Monkees turned into one of the most beloved bands ever. Some of their songs are among the most recognizable and popular tunes of all-time.(Who hasn’t heard I’m a Believer, Daydream Believer or Last Train to Clarksville for what seems like a million times?)  Don’t believe me? Here’s an excerpt from a great piece entitled, Why the Monkees -- and Davy Jones -- should get respect from the CNN.com website last Thursday by writer, David Browne a contributing editor for Rolling Stone and author of "Fire and Rain: The Beatles, Simon & Garfunkel, James Taylor, CSNY and the Lost Story of 1970.")

They could do credible garage rock ("[I'm Not Your] Steppin' Stone," "Words," "She"), exquisite ballad-centric pop ("Sometime in the Morning," "I Wanna Be Free"), and quasi-psychedelia ("Daily Nightly," which features one of the first appearance on record of a synthesizer).

Songs that Nesmith wrote or sang — "The Door into Summer," "I Don't Think You Know Me" — wouldn't have been out of place on more highly regarded Byrds albums of the same '66-'70 period. "For Pete's Sake," the snappy "... in this generation" song heard over the closing credits of each episode of their show, was written by Tork. The Sex Pistols and Run-DMC both covered songs made famous by the Monkees: "Steppin' Stone" and "Mary, Mary," respectively.

Jones, who had proven his stage chops before the Monkees by starring in a British production of "Oliver!", was more than just their eternally cherubic, always-on singer and maracas player. He could caress the hits ("Daydream Believer"), invest a song with suitable snideness (the groupie song "Star Collector") and even co-write a very credible pop reverie ("Dream World").

Not only that, they were adored by millions of fans who tuned in every week to watch their silly antics and bought millions of their records to listen to very cool music. It is embarrassing that a group that gave us so much marvelous pop music and a group that is still so loved by their army of fans, has not received recognition by the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and it angers me that there are still so many critics who deny them this deserved honor. Sad that Davy Jones did not live to see this honor. It would be the right thing to bestow the Monkees into their rightful spots in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame NOW. 

Davy was great with his fans and left memorable impressions to those of us lucky enough to have met him.

I was blessed because this lucky Star Collector got to meet him, pose for a picture and get an autograph about fifteen years ago when he appeared at a local Beatles convention in Connecticut. Then a couple of weeks later, I got to hear him beam with delight at a Learning Annex seminar in New York as he talked about his childhood, early theatrical days (Davy was in the original Broadway production of Oliver playing the Artful Dodger and appeared on the February 9, 1964 episode of Ed Sullivan with the cast—the night the Beatles made their American television debut), lifelong love of horses (something so poetic that he died in his stables alongside his adored horses) and the pride he had in his beautiful four daughters who at that time ranged in age from 9 to 28. He told us how he still has fears and was searching for something more meaningful in his life. That prompted one fan to note, “I can’t believe someone who’s had that much success could still have fears. He inspires me to keep believing in myself.”

During intermission he basked in a pool of affection, flashing that million-dollar smile.  He posed for snapshots and hugged and kissed perfect strangers, who all seemed to know him so well. He was (God, it sucks referring to Davy in the past tense) the handsome, small, almost mystical being who held the key to their past, reminding them all of their romantic visionary pursuits of wanting something or someone special in their life. They waited their whole lives to meet him.  They included me who was about to turn thirty at the time, still single and living at home, hoping to meet a real man of my dreams but who at that very moment knew that this precious English fantasy who was between wives number two and three and had an illusion that my former teen heart throb could fall in love with me. After all, I could be that Girl whom Davy sang about. Dream on, chickie!

I introduced Davy and the Monkees music to my students. We even re-enacted the Getting Davy Jones episode of the Brady Bunch one year in school. If it’s possible, I think I almost single-handedly got a whole new generation of Monkees fans on board.

Then I had one of my most magical celebrity moments ever—getting to talk with Davy on the telephone for nearly two hours one night, interviewing him for a small television nostalgia magazine. Tried to avoid the typical, “Where’s Mike?” questions. (Michael Nesmith, heir to the Liquid paper fortune, just about always sits out Monkees reunions. He did manage to join them on the 1996 studio release, Justus and popped off for a concert here and there). We went in-depth about the important messages of episode number 63 of the Bradys (Getting Davy Jones), the beautiful relationship he had with his fans, how the Monkees movie Head probably helped destroy the group’s career and the ups and downs of being a pop culture icon. He thanked me for asking questions that were not often asked (especially when we went in depth about the Bradys and the Head movie) and promised to leave me tickets to his upcoming Westbury music fair show. (He forgot but I forgave him).

While preparing the piece, I had the chance to talk to some of Davy’s fans (of all ages) and was deeply touched by their connections. I even included quotes from a few new Davy fans (my students. One of whom is now a fifth grade teacher herself and hopefully using some cool music in her classroom to inspire her kids).

I’d like to share portions of my piece with you entitled, Getting Davy Jones in the next few entries, representing pieces of my heart. One important piece is gone with the death of our favorite Daydream Believer, David Thomas Jones of Manchester, England. 

I feel like a piece of my heart has been taken. RIP, "Manchester Cowboy!"