It’s strange to hear that Robert Palmer has died.
I mean, it’s not a significant moment of loss like what I felt with Johnny Cash or even Joe Strummer earlier this year . . . but there is a small place in my memory where I can still access the first time I heard Palmer growling his way through T-Rex’s “Bang a Gong” or saw those bored Nagel-esque vamps going through the motions in the background of the “Addicted to Love” video.
So, I suppose, that means a piece of something in me is gone now too. It’s not a big piece, but still . . . it’s gone now. Forever.
And I get exactly that much older.