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Steve still crosses my mind on a regular basis. I tell people stories about him weekly. This week I had to explain who John Digweed was, and immediately countered with "my friend Steve grew his hair out, and when I told him he looked like Digweed, he called it his Digweave". I remember the times he made me laugh, his wit, his kindness. People like him truly don't come around often. He was a friend I could trust, with the ooey gooey of my own mental weakness, and trust is rare (especially when your foundation is built over the interwebs).
Things have gotten easier (read : breakdowns are less frequent) since the initial impact of finding out about Steve's death, but I still wonder a lot about what triggered his decision to take his life. From time to time, I find myself wondering if there was anything that anyone could have said that would have helped him. Could we really have stopped him, or was the depression simply his terminal illness? In processing recent loss to suicide, someone compared depression to cancer, and finally, the seriousness to depression began to make more sense to me.
I had another friend take his life this week. One that is from the same cloth as Mr. James. I find it odd that they were both named Steve. They were both my brothers in music. Each teaching me more about the depth, power and beauty to be uncovered in electronic music. They both sent me on a quest to establish my own musical identity, and it's something I take pride in now. Instead of a blank stare when someone asks me what my "style" is, I can proudly rattle of hours of music philosophy, artists, remixes, and stories of travels to distant cities in my pursuit of the knowledge.
I learned so much from Jib, and I am so grateful that all of you loved him with such fervor. I'm glad that I have a place I can come, to read about him and keep his memory alive. His death is permanent, but so is his gift. The gift that he gave all of us, which is friendship.
Things have gotten easier (read : breakdowns are less frequent) since the initial impact of finding out about Steve's death, but I still wonder a lot about what triggered his decision to take his life. From time to time, I find myself wondering if there was anything that anyone could have said that would have helped him. Could we really have stopped him, or was the depression simply his terminal illness? In processing recent loss to suicide, someone compared depression to cancer, and finally, the seriousness to depression began to make more sense to me.
I had another friend take his life this week. One that is from the same cloth as Mr. James. I find it odd that they were both named Steve. They were both my brothers in music. Each teaching me more about the depth, power and beauty to be uncovered in electronic music. They both sent me on a quest to establish my own musical identity, and it's something I take pride in now. Instead of a blank stare when someone asks me what my "style" is, I can proudly rattle of hours of music philosophy, artists, remixes, and stories of travels to distant cities in my pursuit of the knowledge.
I learned so much from Jib, and I am so grateful that all of you loved him with such fervor. I'm glad that I have a place I can come, to read about him and keep his memory alive. His death is permanent, but so is his gift. The gift that he gave all of us, which is friendship.
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