Kill Or Be Killed, For These Guys?

Did you see this story? A Scottish woman was sentenced to six years in prison for killing her husband. They had had a rather nasty fight (or row, to be more precisely Scottish), he pulled her to the ground, and she reached for a knife and stabbed him once, fatally. The authorities said alcohol was involved (no haggis, Sherlock). Apparently, though, what didn't come out in the trial but was reported is that the fight started over an argument about what music to listen to--Kenny Rogers or Bob Dylan (an argument for shuffle play on your music system if there ever was one). To me, though, the key aspect of this tragedy that isn't clear at all is which spouse--killed or killer--wanted which singer. Although the woman did get a relatively light sentence for manslaughter, not murder, I'm thinking, as a juror, the difference between Kenny and Bob is huge. But then again, I'm sure a good lawyer would have discovered my maximum Bob bias and had me tossed from the jury pool faster than a sane person punches the radio buttons upon hearing the first notes of Kenny's version of "Lady."

I don't mean to make a farce of this domestic tragedy, but it does raise some interesting questions to me. As great as my love for Bob is, I don't believe I would ever kill for that love or put myself in a position to be killed for that love, but still...

It would be sexist of me to assume the woman wanted Kenny while the man wanted Bob; I know too many intense Bob fans who are women to make that mistake. How do you think the man felt when his dying thoughts were, "I just lost my life because of my unstinting love of Kenny Rogers"? Or the woman, upon hearing her MacMiranda rights being read, thinking, "I just killed my husband and am probably looking at serious jail time for my unstinting love of Kenny Rogers"? Questions which, naturally, seem more surrealistic to me than if you substituted Bob's name in them. Would your fellow prisoners look at you and treat you differently knowing that you had killed someone over Kenny Rogers as opposed to Bob Dylan? Would a more creative judge had shortened the sentence to three years of listening to nothing but Kenny/Bob, whichever the woman couldn't stand?

(Paragraph for Bob freaks only): How sad would it be if the woman had wanted to listen to Knocked Out Loaded or Down In The Groove? How sadder if the guy had wanted to? Losing your life over Bob I can almost comprehend, especially if we're talking Highway 61 Revisited, Blonde On Blonde, Blood On The Tracks--the great ones--but to lose it over Bob's mid-80s nadir would be an irony that would kill me, even if the knife didn't.

(And speaking of Bob freaks, I recall a man in Australia, nearly twenty years ago, who killed his mother because she objected to his constantly playing "One More Cup Of Coffee" [a good song, but not a great one, and certainly no excuse for the crime of matricide]. A few years later the guy was in the news again when he requested a furlough in order to see Bob in concert [knowing those crazy Aussies, he probably got front row ducats and a satin touring jacket]. Which all leads me to remember that back in the Sixties the folks at Columbia Records had a big advertising campaign for a Bob album, the first Greatest Hits, I believe, with the tag line: "Nobody Sings Dylan Like Dylan." True enough, but I'm thinking those aesthetically-challenged Bob haters out there might get some mileage out of culling all these Bob-related homicides [as in Tiger, they gotta be thinking, where there's two, there's bound to be more] and launching a "Nobody Kills Like Dylan" campaign.)

But I think in the Scottish tragedy I have found a possible calling in my life: musical mediator. My credentials for marriage counselor are zilch, but I could sure step in and save the day in a domestic situation like the one those Scots experienced. Like a walking, talking, healing Venn Diagram, I--with my years of musical love and thousands of songs on my hard drive--could easily pacify any such situation. You want Kenny, and you want Bob? No problem, try some Willie Nelson, or Jerry Jeff Walker's Vera Terlingua! You want Madonna, and you want Van Halen? Try some New Order. You want Elvis, and you want Patti Smith? Try some Ike and Tina Turner (ironic, isn't it, that Ike and Tina could help quell domestic disturbances?). You want Susan Boyle, and you want Death Cab For Cutie? Listen, pal, open your mind, get a life, and just listen to Susan sing the Stones' "Wild Horses," you'll weep at the beauty. (Seriously.) You want Josh Groban, and you want Captain Beefheart? Who the hell allowed you two to get married? Opposites do not attract, got it? Now listen to Metal Machine Music for your sins and leave me the hell out of it. You want Michael Buble, and you want Michael Bolton? Good God, you take a crash course in Kenny Rogers, and you listen to nothing but Bob Dylan, and the both of you move to Scotland and start drinking, you scare the hell out of me.

No song today, this space reserved for a moment of silence.