Graham Chaplow: Now that's what I call music

Graham Chaplow

My 90-year-old mother-in-law inadvertently added to the worldwide web of fake news after she misheard news of Ray Columbus' death then misinformed her sister in Yorkshire that one of The Beatles had died.

Word soon spread via my wife's cousins and their friends across Britain's social media, with no one able to ascertain whether the (dead or remaining) Beatle was Sir Paul or Ringo. Not that my mother-in-law was any help there, either (not aware John or George were long since departed), and it took an email exchange between a distraught cousin and my wife to get it sorted.

The prospect of adding a dead Beatle to the plethora of dead rock stars and musicians in 2016 was just too much to bear (on top of Glenn Frey, Bowie, Prince and singer-songwriter Guy Clark; and copious lesser others).

In one week alone we lost four greats; ''a cascade of loss,'' Roseanne Cash called it: poet/singer-songwriter Leonard Cohen, pianist Leon Russell (Joe Cocker's Mad Dogs and Englishmen), jazz/blues maestro Mose Allison (The Who's Young Man Blues), and the Dap Kings Sharon Jones (the film re: her fight back from cancer opened Napier's International Film Festival this year).

With the festive season upon us, every corporate whiz kid and his record label will want to turn 2016's bumper crop of dead rock stars into an extremely bankable year.

It's like a wanted poster from an old western, where the villain is worth just as much dead or alive. Or maybe more. Especially when it's Elvis, Prince or Bowie.

Already their classic hit albums are jamming up The Warehouse's ergonomically unfriendly bins beside their customary fare like Best of Ready to Roll: Now That's What I Call Music Volume 52, plus the late Prince Tui Teka embodying NZ's dead contingent this year.

Last year it was Cilla Black. Yes, it's nice when someone who always meant to gather Cilla's hits into one enticing neatly packaged bundle, can. But why the sudden need because she's dead. Nice, too, that the coffers in the estates of some artists might get a boost, for their whanau (that's if their inheritances haven't been sidled elsewhere).

I see there's a Ray Columbus and the Invaders compilation re-released already, and I'd put money on Ray's greatest hits coming out around Christmas.

If things were just and equitable, he and every other dead recording artist would've had a much fairer hearing while they were still alive. Maybe next year Apple and Tidal could stop competing with Spotify for exclusive rights to popular artists and all three online music providers might combine to present a wider gamut of music, promoting all past and present styles.

Freeview TV could add a dedicated arts and music channel featuring live music or documentaries (The Edge TV just doesn't cut it).

With a bit more time and effort, FM radio stations could diversify, shying away from their present pop-jock, computer-generated classic-hit-constant-repeat blueprints, and present a more eclectic, edifying style. Something similar to Radio NZ or online.

Folks would learn more about the artists from Cash's cascade week of loss: Cohen, Russell, Allison and Jones.

Millennials (future consumers if our CBDs are to survive) might revert to local outlets rather than purchase their stuff offshore.

True music disciples will always savour the tangible act of flicking through the artwork on CDs, DVDs, vinyl and cassettes (even they're back in vogue) in diehard music stores (Ye olde record shops; cultural hubs that once nurtured friendships, ideas and new bands).

That's if a town is lucky enough to still have one; if The Warehouse hasn't forced its closure (it's even opening a red pop-up outlet in Kawakawa to reap the holiday sales there).

Perpetuating a world-weary, stage-managed contrivance amongst the general population that there's only a select group of popular recording artists worth hearing, simply compounds the boredom and distrust gnawing at our already world-savvy teens. It's been like that for years.

Imagine Cash's band in Heaven, ''The Cascade of Loss'' (what a great band or album title), along with Bowie, Prince and our own Modfather Ray Columbus on vocals, shaking his locks on high. Now that's what I'd call music.

Graham Chaplow is a retiree, volunteer teachers' aide and award-winning writer.