Tributes to The Rev

February 9, 2014


I was walking down the street from the underground station to my house. It was already dark and the cold wind blew soft snowflakes into my face. I raised my shoulders to cuddle into my scarf; my hands buried deep in the pockets of my coat. I was tired from another long day of a horrible week. The only highlight were the past 5 hours that I had spent with building up a solid foundation to get ready and live my dream. I am about to make my hobby my job. Just like my idols. Just like him. The rough voice singing of a king sent shivers down my spine. The beat and rhythmic strumming of the guitars floated through my ears into my system, warming me from the inside. But as I walked down the lonely street with a few flickering street lamps on the other side from where I was and with the icy wind burning my cheeks I felt my heart grow heavy in my chest. It’s been weeks since I got back to Germany but somehow I couldn’t shake the feeling that a huge part of me stayed in California. Especially my heart. It still feels like I am just an empty shell, only existing instead of living. To this day I miss the sun, the people I have met, my best friend and … the sea.
My thoughts wandered back to my last few days over there, of which one was burned into my memory for all eternity. I could close my eyes and see the waves hitting the beach, smell the salty air, feel the cool breeze on my from the sun heated cheeks. I could feel the grass beneath my hands as I knelt in front of a grey stone plate with a name on it. A name a lot of people wouldn’t forget for the rest of their lives.

The name of a sinner. The name of a saint.

Right then, as I turned around the last corner, the voice that I grew to love over the past year started to chant. The corners of my mouth pulled my lips into a soft smile and my eyes looked up into the dark night sky, blinking when a small glittering snowflake sank down on my eyelashes.


This is the story of a man,
Who conquered life drink in hand
Ship unmanned.
Marked by genius, channeled good,
By some a bit misunderstood.
They'd been wrong many times before.


I wished that I would have had the chance to know this man. Only knowing him from the countless of youtube-videos and interviews I know he must have been one of the most inspiring and caring persons that ever walked this earth. Not just because I’m a fan of his band but because I truly believe it when I hear him talk and laugh, I know that he was so genuine and full of love for just anybody. No matter who it was, where they came from, he just loved them unconditionally.


Sometimes our saints are sinners.
They blur the lines and lead the way,
Their Way.
Raise hell and a glass in reverence,
The fearless lives of our great saints - our saints.


I got to know what it means to believe when I was in Los Angeles; to have faith and trust in someone or something so much bigger than our minds could ever embrace. It gave me hope that one day I will be able to meet him for real. Because I believe with all my heart that he is in heaven. He has to be. Although he must have done a lot of things that are considered sins. I’m pretty sure he was a sinner but he cared for his family and friends, his brothers and sisters, his fans. He was and still is the perfect example for a person so blessed that no matter what he did, good or bad, everyone admired him, loved him, supported him. And he returned it.


Never a stranger to late night
Snake bite, fist fights and empty pints.
Unrivaled heights.
He led with songs, they sang along, created bonds that held so strong.
Some were right and some were wrong


He was out of his mind. Crazy. A nutcase. Mental. He was breathing the air over the heads of everyone else and it surely did something to him. He had probably the biggest heart that someone could ever have. As I said before he was a very genuine person. He saw you and immediately loved you, called you best friend even. Because he saw the good in people. “Saw beyond what others see.” I never doubt it for a second.


Sometimes our saints are sinners,
They blur the lines and lead the way,
Their Way.
Raise hell and a glass in reverence,
The fearless lives of our great saints - our saints.


Every time I go out with my friends or drink a glass of wine at home while watching a movie or TV, my first sip is always dedicated to him. I would raise my gaze towards the ceiling, the sky, and smile proudly, for I am part of such a great and strong family. A family that he is a founding member of.


[Solo]


Listening to his brother’s fingers flying over the fret board to play this beautiful solo for him is something so moving, in every way. I myself always think of the fun they must have had together but also the pain I had felt when I first found out that he was gone and how much worse it must have been for his friends and family. I felt like screaming ‘no’ over and over again, not believing it for a second. I had just seen him giving an interview on youtube. How could he be gone?

“The loss […] is a daily struggle.” Not just for them but also for us. For everyone part of this family.


It's by the sea and at nights end that's when the sin and swill begin.
That's when he had that certain light inside his head.
For every whisper he would scream,
For every draught he shared a drink,
For every sorrow there is a light from our St. James.


I see him leaning out of the window of the car yelling at the traffic light, or yelling in general. I see him running down to the pond in utter disbelief of how big those ducks were. I see him at Johnny’s Saloon downing drinks with his best friends and watching the gnome barfing next to the pool table. He was there when someone needed a shoulder to cry on. He was there when someone was tormenting Johnny. Because mainly he started it. He was there when there was a drum kit or a piano in the room. He was always there.


On the sea by the cliff he watches, he waits the night to see the day - his way
Last call will find us all
But there's a light that leads the way, our way.


When I knelt there in front of his grave I was first filled with so much sadness that it was actually pretty hard to breathe. Do you know that feeling? This sort of pressure onto your chest, the lump in your throat? I had to close my eyes and needed a minute until I could continue talking to him. But when I did it was like his hand was rubbing my back gently and the feeling of being captured in a jar too small for me went away. First I was so sad that I never got the chance to meet him. But the longer I sat there the more certainty I felt. The certainty that I will be able to hug him and thank him for what he and his friends has done for me, for all of us.


Sometimes our saints are sinners,
They blur the lines and lead the way,
Their Way.
Raise hell and a glass in reverence,
The fearless lives of our great saints - our saints.


The song ended and the crackle of fire that faded into a raw guitar riff pulled me back to the dark and cold street I was standing on. My face was damp from the melting snowflakes, the wind had frozen the smile onto my face. But I didn’t care. I will never care. Because the flame that is burning inside of me keeps me going not matter the circumstances.


The flame that they had ignited.

They who are blessed to stand in his light.

His light.


Our St. James.

Notes