In the summer of 1988 my Uncle John, just 23 years old, was killed in a car accident.
I don’t recall all of the particulars, something about a car doing an illegal U-turn on the East Beltline in Grand Rapids, back when it was only a two-lane road instead of the split four-lane highway it is now.
I was 14 when he passed, so of course I was self-absorbed in my search for my own identity. This isn’t a eulogy for him, such would never be my place. I simply didn’t know him well enough.
But I wish I knew him better. Please be patient as I tend to digress.
As it so happens, today, September 28th, is the anniversary of the release of Music for the Masses, the seminal Depeche Mode album that was forever immortalized in the documentary concert film 101, which chronicled the tour that supported the release of said album. I’m actually listening to that album in its entirety as I write this.
If you know anything about me you know that Depeche Mode was, and still is, my favorite band of all time. They were particularly important to me during my formative years. It’s not hyperbole to say that they greatly shaped the man that I am today. I could go on and on about why I love them and their influence, as I have done many times before, but that’s not the point today. Rather, this is about how I could have known my uncle better if events had happened differently.
As I said, John passed in 1988, but as you’ll see, music can connect people, even in death.
Depeche Mode released 101 in March of 1989. Later that summer they released the single for “Personal Jesus” and that is when I first discovered them. True, I recalled liking their song “People are People” in 1984, when I was 10, but “Personal Jesus” spoke to me in a way that no other music had done by that point in my life. I paid $6 for the CD single and listened to it incessantly.
That Christmas my best friend Matt received the aforementioned 101 double-cassette tape as a gift from his older sister Jen. With my love for “Personal Jesus” I asked to borrow it to listen to that “old” song “People are People.” I would fast forward to that track, listen, rewind, then listen again.
Sometimes I would forget to rewind and the following songs would play. They attached themself to me, and before long I was listening to the entire live album over and over, sharing favorite tracks with my other friends. Matt became curious and asked for his tapes back, which I returned.
At this point it had become a full-on obsession.
I counted the days until the March 23, 1990 release of their new album, Violator. Then, with my meager funds, I began purchasing their entire back catalog.
On July 28, 1990, at 16 years old my parents let me, my friends Ringo (technically a “Michael” like many males, being Gen X and all), Marre, Matt, and his sister Jen as “chaperone,” drive to Pine Knob Music Theater in “Detroit” (really, Clarkston; now known as DTE Music Theatre; edit: it’s Pine Knob again; MAD) to see Depeche Mode perform.
I’ve been devoted ever since.
So what does this have to do with my Uncle John?
Somehow word of my love of Depeche Mode made it to John’s sister, my Aunt Julie, with whom he had been living before he passed. Two years later she still retained some of his belongings. She had mentioned to my mother that she had some records of John’s that perhaps I would be interested in, so one day we drove over to her place to see what he had.
I was now sporting hair that was shaved along the sides and the back, with the top growing long and thick, my natural waves becoming more evident. You could often find me wearing jeans and a black concert shirt, often Depeche Mode, with big, clunky black shoes. I was the epitome of the 90s alterna-teen.
And here I was flipping my fingers through John’s record collection, where I was thrilled to find Speak and Spell, A Broken Frame, Construction Time Again, People are People, Some Great Reward, Catching up with Depeche Mode, Black Celebration, Music for the Masses, and to my surprise, each and every corresponding vinyl single that went along with them. If you’re a Depeche Mode fan you realize that I’ve just listed everything they released until John’s untimely demise, and if you’re not, well, now you do.
In July of 1988 I was vaguely aware of who Depeche Mode was. Within about a year I was a fan, and shortly thereafter, a devoted, perhaps obsessed, lifelong acolyte.
And apparently, so was my uncle.
Sadly, I didn’t know that about him until he passed. I didn’t know that about myself when he passed, I had yet to fully discover them, but clearly, holding these LPs and 12-inch singles in my hands, my uncle was just as big of a fan, if not more so.
I didn’t know my Uncle John well, but we both shared a deep love and reverence for a music group that was highly influential, not just to the larger world of music, but in our respective lives.
What would have been if I had known him then?
Perhaps to some of you this might seem fickle, some people discard music once they are done with it. I’m not one of those people, and in my experience, Depeche Mode fans are for the most part lifelong and passionate. Not all, but many.
Knowing that, I can only imagine what kind of connection I could have formed with John. Life can be a series of “what if’s,” but only one narrative is realized.
A short while later at my favorite comic book store, Argos Used Books, my brother Adam, my mother, and I ran into John’s former girlfriend, Penny. She was surprised to see us. She was there looking over new releases of comic books, something she told us that she and John used to do.
I won’t waste your time going on about my lifelong love affair with comic books as well, but it seems that again there was another interest of John’s that we shared.
I still own those albums and will until ultimately I pass as well. They are cherished possessions, not just because of my love for the band and their music, but as a legacy to my uncle, a fellow fan whom I wished that knew just a little bit better.
I’m sorry I didn’t take, or have, the time to do so.
Now, as a man of 46 and nearing 47 quickly, twice John’s age, I think back on how devastatingly young 23 is. The world was just starting to open up for him when he left us, and that in and of itself is tragic enough.
This isn’t a eulogy, it can’t be, but as is often the case with family, it’s a lament of time together lost.
So this is for my Uncle John, gone 32 years too soon, and to Music for the Masses on its 33rd anniversary; the power of music is greater than death for it can be the bridge to those we remember, honor, or simply would have liked to know better.
Originally written and published on Facebook on September 28, 2020
© 2024 Michael A. Diaz