Joe Cocker died. In December. Last December. And somehow I didn’t hear until fairly recently. I was walking home from the grocery store and my husband told me. My reaction was this exactly: “Nooo!”
I don’t have a strong sense of my own identity. There aren’t very many things I feel very strongly about, or identify very strongly with. There isn’t an overarching genre, or color, or place that I can point to and say: “Yeah, the south side of Boston–that’s me!” But there are smaller things. Hazier things that when put all together start to make up something. Some kind of feeling maybe. One of those things is this performance of Joe Cocker doing “The Letter” in 1970:
That exuberant mix of soul and sadness. There’s joy in that performance. And there’s pain. There’s everything in that performance.
I just wanted to put this out there. Just go on record that Joe Cocker means something to me. I’m glad he was here. He’s made me feel things, and he’ll continue to.