Yesterday afternoon, the writer-poet-musician-spoken-word innovator Gil Scott-Heron (1949-2011) died at the age of 62 in NYC. Gil was one of a batch of artists that captured my attention and imagination as a child and as an adult. While certainly acclaimed for the historical riff, The Revolution Will Not Be Televised (written 1968/released 1970), Gil was an artist that left us with a great body of works to explore for years to come. Much has and will be said about him, as gentle as he was moody, brilliant mind, sad addict. Just last year, he released I’m New Here which championed a humble public return after a stint in jail. The self-proclaimed bluesologist (a profound fusion of blues, jazz & Harlem renaissance poetry) is dead; New York has finally killed him… now go crank up your iPods and pay the man his due respect.
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