He was a ballet dancer, sound engineer for the Grateful Dead, and the guy who provided Lennon with a “lifetime supply” of his wonderfully pure acid. His father was a congressman and governor of Kentucky who hated Prohibition. He ate nothing but red meat. He was a fucking American, before he became an Australian.
Given his lifestyle, it seems fitting that he died in a car crash. But the death of such a massive 60's icon should give us pipsqueaks pause: we can't take the Boomers for granted anymore. In 20 years, we'll all be huddling around a guy who caught a glimpse of Creem when he was 12, or a girl who went down on Hendrix's utterly massive (could it be any other way) penis when she was 15. We'll be doing lines of Crystal Dream off Steely Dan 8-tracks that we bought on SuperEtsy for $400 nebulon dollars.
Have you called your parents today?