Sunday Rain: It’s taken me some deep breaths to write this, and truthfully, I don’t know why? The loss of Taylor Hawkins has gutted me, totally and completely. I feel like I lost my best friend, and I’ve only met the guy a handful of times. You see, being a musician for 15 years in Los Angeles makes you swim in the same pond, practice at the same rehearsal spots in the valley, drink whiskey shots in the same dirty bars, supporting your friends playing on the Strip and eating pizza late night at the Bow; it’s like the Kevin Bacon game, but with Taylor — he was always around. Even after I moved to Santa Barbara, I ran into Taylor and his wife, Alison, in the Funk Zone, just hanging around. The meetings were all memorable to me in different ways, but … I didn’t know him. We were not close friends — if he even knew my name, or of my band, I’d be surprised, although his kindness and gleeful demeanor made it feel so.
So it is this unexpected loss of him; of that mischievous smile, his laughing eyes, of his monstrous energy, a power that blew you off your feet behind the kit — it feels like a hole has been punched into our guts. Into this musical universe. Into my musical universe.
His contributions and stylings, on the drums of course, with that formidable swing that was all laid back but purposeful, he was a joy to witness as his arms and feet blurred but his smile never faltered. Lest we forget, one of the things I like most about him, it is his voice so full of guttural character, of a loss and then understanding, combined with clever, sometimes twisted songwriting, in and outside of the Foos, was stuff of rockstar legend. But what all this comes down to — it was his ease in life, his lighthearted spirit, his surf shorts and tank tops, his welcoming approachability. It truly was what brought him so close to our hearts — because, he was all that we aspired to become.