Rest in Paradise - Micheal 'Eyedea' Larsen

The music was the kind of loud that makes your eyes hurt. Despite the 20-degree freeze outside, my skin sweltered beneath the brim of my black knit hat and the notorious basement venue buzzed with the sweet smell of cheap beer and feisty college kids. After making the rounds, I stopped to post up at my usual table, sip my Jack and Coke, and take in the musical happiness happening around me. My glance was mindlessly roaming the room when I recognized greasy black hair and dirty tennis shoes standing amidst a huddle of twenty-somethings. I stood for a moment to contemplate my next move. Thanks to my third drink, I was feeling unusually brave and so with a tilt of my head, I threw back what was left in my glass and sauntered across the room. As if fate was in on my plan, the crowd suddenly dissipated and I had a clear shot.

“Hey – my name is Missi. It’s really nice to meet you.”
“Missi? Nice to meet you, I’m Micheal.”

There are moments in life where everything changes – in an instant, suddenly nothing is the same as it was only a moment before. Sunday afternoon, three quarters of the way down the dairy isle, I had a moment. My knees buckled, my heart raced, I was sick to my stomach. Micheal ‘Eyedea’ Larsen, one of the most illustrious people to emerge from the Twin Cities, is gone. He has left us forever with only his music and our memories to guide us through our grief.

The morning after I first met Micheal, he invited me for coffee downtown. To my surprise, he was easy to talk with, easy to relate to, and relaxed. Our friendship came to fruition and I quickly understood he was not your ordinary, well, anything. As he spoke he pulled you into his world – never was there judgment, egotism, or the sense that he deemed himself better than anyone else. Kids would literally stop and stare as he walked down the street and it was like he never noticed – and if he did, it was the same “Hey man, what’s up?”

I find myself mourning Mike on two levels. Musically he was a genius who did things with words I did not even know were possible. His voice reaches out to the masses and lets us know it is good to be different, to be yourself. His heart is at the forefront of every line – every painful shriek tells a tale of his sorrow, his joy, his angst. His face is plastered all over the internet, his name scribbled in chalk on the streets of Uptown. It is simply inescapable. The world is in mourning.

Personally, he was truly one of a kind. We would go to one of his local St. Paul haunts and as we drank our beers, he would engage me with story after story – life on the road, different experiences he’s had, his thoughts on the world. Our conversation would often be interrupted because everyone in the place knew him. Men in their sixties, women in their thirties, bartenders, servers, the maintenance man – and he greeted everyone with the same genuine enthusiasm and kindness.

Things I will miss about Micheal? The familiar sharp inhale through his crooked front teeth. The way he shook his head to the side to toss his hair out of his face. The way he added “town” to the end of any word to make it a destination that did not exist, but you wanted to visit. His sporadic free styling. His homemade t-shirts. That hat – you know the one. He was hilarious. He was intelligent. He just was who he was.

In a sense, I feel lucky. I get to be with Micheal when I turn on his music. I get to hear his voice whenever I feel like it. I get to see his mannerisms in as many YouTube videos as I want. Usually when people die, those things eventually fade from your memory. Micheal is celebrated everywhere. He has very literally left a mark on the world that can never be forgotten.

Thank you, Micheal. For all that you have given me – all that you’ve shown me. Thank you for your friendship. Thank you for your music. Thank you for always being exactly who you were. Your spirit will never fade – it lives on through all of us left here in your wake. I love you. I’ll see you when I get to Clown Town.

Who makes the music?

Anyone who knows me knows that music is a giant part of who I am – it is imminent in every part of me. Some days, I have solely Lady Gaga to thank for my treadmill gusto and Gwen Stefani for the grit to push through those final reps. I have a wonderful (and incredibly stressful) job that I enjoy very much but still depend on Bobby Brown, Britney, and John Legend to facilitate both the ability to meet deadlines and pass the time, depending on the day’s procrastination level.

The most rewarding part of every day is my trek to the office. The sun is struggling to rise in the distance; others making the same jaunt zoom past me as I get lost in the hazy glow of their taillights, and my mood is heightened by whatever pours from the speakers. Reflective? John Mayer. Sad? Tim McGraw. Confident? Aretha Franklin. Happy? *NSync. Excited? Gnarls Barkley. Love sick? Al Green. Hardcore? Nas. Hating all men? Miranda Lambert… you catch my drift. It is my 30 minutes to sit silently, Tommy Lee my dashboard, make believe I am Fiona Apple – whatever. No one gets a say but me. It is where I decide my approach to the day and find the inspiration to make it count.

There are days my brain refuses ignition and so I sit cross-legged at my desk with my ear buds in and the volume on high, select the most appropriate Pandora station and wait for the motivation to creep up. (Usually I fill a few pages of scratch paper with doodles in the meantime – song lyrics, triangles, ducks. Just go with it.) The number one motivator in my life is music. It allows me to express myself when I cannot reach the words otherwise. It makes me feel like everything will be ok when I am utterly hopeless. It breaks me free after the jeans I pulled out of the laundry basket unexpectedly morph into crabby pants. It stabs me when a memory I am desperately trying to forget rings out from the radio before I can reach the scan button. It keeps me awake when I’ve gone too long without 8 hours and the ride home seems endless. It helps me relax when the world around me spins too quickly to keep up.

Musical preferences stem from your life experiences and those closest to you. My big brother’s collection would fill the house on hot summer days when Mom and Dad were off at work. My sister showed me the 80’s en route from one mall to the next. My parents listened to country music, so naturally it sunk in. My grandmother loves Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin, she and I used to croon together while I helped fold laundry. My grandfather and I used to sing Don McLean’s ‘American Pie’ every summer in his rusty, old pickup truck. Then, there is the musical expedition you embrace all on your own – where you take snippets from here and there to build your own, personal musical kingdom – a world that only you know. Music is a souvenir that can be pulled out whenever and where ever you see fit. It is very seriously a time machine that brings you back to the exact minute in time as it exists in your memory; your own personal happy.


Ten songs that changed my life, in no particular order:

Incubus - Wish You Were Here
“And in this moment, I am happy. I wish you were here.”
Every time I hear this song, I get chills. I very much relate to feeling so blissful and free and the only thing that could make it better was if that someone was beside you. When I hear the first chords, my eyes close, and my mind wanders to a place that is bigger than everything else.

Michael Jackson – Rock With You.
“Just take it slow, we’ve got so far to go.”
Think sparkly jacket and glove. Think creepy pseudo-mustache. This is one of the first Michael Jackson songs I ever heard and unquestionably one of my favorites. It makes me want to dance in my living room ala Tom Cruise - Shamon.

Forever – Ben Harper
“So give me your forever, please your forever. Not a day less will do from you.”
This song makes me believe in love when it seems impossible to have faith and gives me the courage to find someone who will write a song like this for me.

F*@K You Lucy – Atmosphere
“No, I’m not OK and I don’t know what to do.”
Screamed at many a men (who never knew it) whilst all alone in my car, this song allows me to be livid, jaded, and hate all men in one fell swoop. Then, once it is over, I can wipe the sweat and prepare to fall again knowing this song will be there to catch me.

India.Arie – Video
“But, I learned to love myself unconditionally because I am a Queen.”
In a world where it is easy to lose yourself in other people’s opinions, some times you need to be able to say, “I am me, and that is more than enough.” Those who mind don’t matter and those who matter won’t mind.

De La Souls – P.O.S.
“Listen to records in my room to escape, found some things I could relate with. I wore out the tape.”
One of the first local songs to hit me dead between the eyes – the first time I heard him do this live my life changed forever. Such power and honesty. One night, I played it on repeat and wrote down every word until I had it memorized.

Brother Ali – Forest Whitaker
“Whatever comes up comes out. We don’t put our hands over our mouth.”
There is only one way to listen to this: with a mean mug and exactly one fist in the air.

Lauryn Hill – Doo Wop (That Thing)
“Don’t be a hard rock when you really are a gem.”
The definitive badass, don’t-take-crap-from-any-man song. It is powerful, it is honest, and it is inspiring. This song came into my life when I was insecure and defenseless. Whenever I feel ‘caught up’ in a situation I press play and truly believe I am Lauryn Hill ...and you had better not cross me.

Dr Dre – Keep Their Heads Ringin’
“Step on stage and get faded just like a flat top.”
One of the first Hip Hop songs I remember hearing - in the back of my brothers Blazer on the way to school. Some people grew up with Public Enemy or Wu Tang Clan – I grew up thinking Snoop, Dre, and Twista were the only MC’s who mattered.

J. Gatz – We Are America
“You tell us what we wanna here, we let freedom ring”
The first time I witnessed the construction of a song. I watched the lyrics float into the microphone, I heard the guitar riff morph from non-existence to the backbone of the song, and I felt the bass as it pounded through the studio’s speakers. One of the most implausible experiences in my life thus far.

Love.

I was looking through another blog and found this article. A group of professional people posed this question to a group of 4-8 year olds:

“What does Love mean?”

Here are some of their answers…

“When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn’t bend over and paint her toenails anymore. So my grandfather does it for her all the time, even when his hands got arthritis too. That’s Love.”

Rebecca - age 8

“When someone Loves you, the way they say your name is different. You just know that your name is safe in their mouth.”

Billy - age 4

“Love is what makes you smile when you’re tired.”

Terri - age 4

“Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip before giving it to him, to make sure the taste is OK.”

Danny - age 7

“Love is when you kiss all the time. Then when you get tired of kissing, you still want to be together and you talk more. My Mommy and Daddy are like that. They look gross when they kiss.”

Emily - age 8

“Love is what’s in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and listen.”

Bobby - age 7

“If you want to learn to Love better, you should start with a friend who you hate.”

Nikka - age 6

“Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt, then he wears it everyday.”

Noelle - age 7

“Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still friends even after they know each other so well.”

Tommy - age 6

“During my piano recital, I was on a stage and I was scared. I looked at all the people watching me and saw my daddy waving and smiling. He was the only one doing that. I wasn’t scared anymore.”

Cindy - age 8

“Love is when Mommy gives Daddy the best piece of chicken.”

Elaine - age 5

“Love is when Mommy sees Daddy smelly and sweaty and still says he is handsomer than Robert Redford.”

Chris - age 7

“Love is when your puppy licks your face even after you left him alone all day.”

Mary Ann - age 4

“I know my older sister Loves me because she gives me all her old clothes and has to go out and buy new ones.”

Lauren - age 4

“When you Love somebody, your eyelashes go up and down and little stars come out of you.”

Karen - age 7

“Love is when Mommy sees Daddy on the toilet and she doesn’t think it’s gross.”

Mark - age 6

“You really shouldn’t say ‘I Love you’ unless you mean it. But if you mean it, you should say it a lot. People forget.”

Jessica - age 8

Is it just me, or are these the most incredible responses ever? One of my favorite people in this entire world, my 9-year-old niece, says and does the most incredible things. I wish children did not grow up, get their heart broken, and become jaded fools like the rest of us.

Love [luhv]
-noun
1. A profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person.
2. A feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection, as for parent, child, or friend.
3. Sexual passion or desire

Obviously, Love comes in all shapes and sizes. I definitely Love coffee in the morning, I definately love my job and I definitely Love my best friend – but definitely not in the same way. Jim and Bob both Love Karen – but Jim Loves the hue of her eyes and the way she pushes her hair out of her face when she laughs. Bob? Bob Loves the way she swings her arms when she walks and how she addresses the checkout woman at the gas station by her first name. Love is relative. Love is whatever you want it to be, whatever you make it, and sometimes, it just is what it is. Love is uncontrollable. Then, there are times; Love is not Love at all. And that is when Love gets you into trouble.

In my life, I overuse the phrase “I Love you...” just so long as I mean it. I say it to my friends, I say it to my family, and I say it to my TiVo after a long day of work. Perhaps it’s a side effect from losing so many Loved ones – most all at a young age and tragically. I guess I would rather have there be no doubt than an “if only” lurking even at the expense of some not taking it seriously. (And I do mean it. Every time I say it. Or I wouldnt say it. It's as simple as that. Really.)

Growing up my family was never particularly emotional or touchy-feely. I am by far the most expressive person in my family and as a kid; I had intense anxiety about death. At age 15 or 16 I remember starting to have the most overwhelming urge to shout, “Love ya!” to my parents whenever I left the house. Looking back, I am positive my parents thought it was strange behavior as that was not a common practice in our household. Now, almost 10 years later I still say those words as I leave the house and if I forget as I rush out the door with one heel on, the other in my left hand and a piece of string cheese hanging out of my mouth – I feel uneasy as I pull out of my driveway.

I may be a sap – scratch that, I am most definitely a sap – but I Love Love. I Love the smell of Love, the touch of Love, and the relief things I Love bring me.

Do we ever really lose a Love? Or is that Love just transferred from one thing to another? I think Love lasts forever but maybe the type of Love changes. Karen and Jim have been together for years, but Karen is not in Love with Jim anymore – she is in Love with Bob. Does Karen have Love for Jim? Absolutely – Love lasts forever. But Karen wakes up thinking about Bob. Perhaps Bob doesn’t feel the same way, but Karen will carry that Love around until her heart grows tired and that Love transfers to Peter. I think I have taken this too far…

I don’t know much. But I do know that Love is tricky. And messy. And heartbreaking. And all consuming. And worth it.