You are the music

Last night I went to the 1-up for Roosevelt Collier's Colorado Get Down ensemble's show. I hope you were there with me because I know you would have loved the raw, funky show they threw down. It was exactly the type of music that made you move.

Tons of your friends were there. There was so much love and many two-armed hugs. And we all danced, because funk makes people happy, no matter how sad things are. Because even when people die, their music lives on.

I closed my eyes a lot last night while listening to the show. I imagined that you were standing to my left. I imagined that our arms gently brushed against one another as we danced. I could feel your body. I saw you shaking your hips to the beat. I imagined the smooth smile on your face, stoked on the music. There were so many times when a question or comment would arise in my mind and I would look over to my left to tell you. You weren't there when I opened my eyes.

There was also another part of the show that was really important. The Drunken Hearts were the opening act – your band. Well, kind of.

In the days leading up to your death, you and The Drunken Hearts had decided to part ways. The news was very fresh and you were heartbroken. Since you died very suddenly after the break up with the band, not many people knew about it. In fact, to many, you went to your grave still as the drummer in the band. But you, me, the band, and people close to you knew that was not the case. That night, we took a long walk. I asked if you felt hopeless. You said you did not. You said you felt like you lost a huge part of your identity. But you knew that you would rebuild. You knew this left space for something new. You felt empty, but not hopeless. I understand now too, how emptiness feels.

There were a lot of emotions in those few days for you obviously, and for me as well. I had gotten accustomed to rehearsals in the house every week. Often we would make dinner together for the whole band. Upon moving to Boulder, I spent a lot of the time at home, since I work from the house. I didn't have much time to make a ton of friends. But I did have time to get to know the guys in the band. And though I never told them, I fell in love with each guy in the band. I told you often that I had never had so many wonderful guy friends before. I knew I could call any of them if I ever needed something. I trusted them all. So your departure from The Drunken Hearts was the beginning of a break up for us all, in some ways. There was a dark path ahead. Though I wish more than anything that you were still here, I'm relieved that you didn't have to walk that path.

The reason I write about this today is NOT to bring up demons. It's not to 'out' the band. Your death had absolutely nothing to do with you parting ways with the Hearts – it simply was a dark shadow in the days that turned out to be your last.

Going to the show last night was incredibly challenging for me, but it was also cathartic. Because, Teddy, who you were in life was not dependent upon your position in the band. And while you may have felt empty due to your breakup with them, you went out of this world a lone man – an individual – which is a beautiful thing.

Your identity, to those who love you, had nothing to do with your career. And I know that if you were still here today, you would have recovered, strengthened, and found new passion in another project. I also know that your relationship with the members of the Hearts, in time, would also mend – your friendship and love would remain. Your bond with those guys was more important than business and you were not one to hold a grudge. And while you may have had angst, disappointment, and confusion in your final days – your legacy is not defined by the last three days of your life.

Some people who knew about this falling out questioned my attending the show last night. (And I don't mean with judgement, simply a question.) And the truth is, so did I! But then, I think about you. What would you want? And I also thought about me. What do I need?

You would want me to be surrounded by love. You would want me to be surrounded by music. The Drunken Hearts are what I know, they are familiar. I know every song. I know the dynamics of the sound, the epic solos, the rough spots, who needs to be turned up and who needs to be turned down, every place where you would hit the double bass, where I liked to stand in the crowd, and the girls I stood with. And that's where I needed to be last night. Standing with them, still. Because, despite the breakup, I need The Drunken Hearts. I need them more than ever. And I think they might need me too. Though, really, we all need you.

When I looked at the stage last night and saw a different drummer, it actually made things a bit easier for me. Because I knew, that even if you were still alive, you would not be sitting behind that kit at that show. The new drummer had nothing to do with your death – and that took some of the pain away. And when I looked on stage and into the eyes of the guys I love – I saw men struggling. As Andrew said last night to the crowd, "We're all just trying to figure out how to hold it together". It's true, none of us know quite how to manage without you. We're just doing the best we can and we're all thinking of you along the way.

You were the music, Ted. You didn't need to have a stick in hand or your foot on a pedal to make music – it was all around you because it was in you. Your words were the lyrics. Your thoughts were the cadence. Your movement was the rhythm. Your laugh was the tempo. Your loved ones were the beat. In your honor, my love, the music you made continues. We will never let your music die.