The Last Verse: Music, Memory and Mortality

The Last Verse: Music, Memory and Mortality – by Jason Irwin.

It’s a weird thing, watching your heroes get older. Even weirder when they start leaving us. The voices and faces that once felt larger than life—our gods of rock—are now gray, weathered, and, in too many cases, gone. For anyone who grew up on records that shook the walls, seeing the legends fade is hard to take.

I think back to January 12, 1984. Ozzy Osbourne was staying at the Sheraton at Exit 19 in Queensbury, where my mom worked as the restaurant manager. He was playing the Glens Falls Civic Center that night. I was 12 and a huge Ozzy fan. When his room-service order came in—a pot of coffee and an English muffin—Mom decided to bring it up herself. She told him her son was a fan, and after signing the check “John Osbourne,” he autographed the back for me.

I still have that autograph. Back then, Ozzy was the “Prince of Darkness,” the wild man of metal. But to my mom, he was just a polite guy who liked his coffee hot and his breakfast simple. Forty-one years later, both she and Ozzy are gone—and they passed just five days apart. Somehow, that feels poetic, like the universe closing a circle on one of my favorite memories.

That same year, on November 16, KISS rolled into Glens Falls on their Animalize tour. They stayed at the same Sheraton, and Mom once again got me access to their floor. I met Paul, who signed a piece of paper for me, along with Bruce Kulick and the late Mark St. John. Gene Simmons scared me, so I kept my distance. My six-year-old sister Shaunn was there too, maybe too young to know what was going on, but she knew it was important. Around that time, my Aunt Jeannie handed me down her original copy of “Destroyer.” For so many reasons, it’s become one of my most treasured things—and I’m not even a big vinyl collector. I don’t even have a record player anymore. Maybe it’s finally time I got one.

Even though Ace Frehley wasn’t touring with them back then, his recent passing makes that memory hit differently. When I last saw Ace perform at The Strand Theatre in Hudson Falls on May 15, 2024, he wasn’t the same player I grew up listening to—but he was still The Spaceman, and he always will be. Knowing he’s gone now adds another layer of sadness to that memory. The men behind the makeup aren’t invincible—they’re just like the rest of us.

Those moments were my first real proof that my idols were real. And now, as so many of those icons pass on, it’s both heartbreaking and inspiring to see who’s still out there.

They’re still with us: John Fogerty, Rod Stewart, Debbie Harry, Bob Dylan, Robert Plant, Jimmy Page, Paul Simon, Stephen Stills, and Mick Jagger and Keith Richards—some still touring, some with uncertain futures in music. The truth is—rolling stones do gather moss. What keeps them rolling forever is our memories and their music.

Even the remaining Beatles—Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr—are still performing. Ringo, now 85, keeps flashing peace signs with his All-Starr Band, while Paul, 83, fills stadiums with sing-alongs that blur the line between nostalgia and magic. Watching them perform feels like seeing history itself smile back at you.

And then there’s The Who. Roger Daltrey and Pete Townshend, in their late 70s and early 80s, are still commanding stages decades after their first hits. They’re on their final North American “The Song is Over” farewell tour—a name that quietly admits they’ve given everything they have and are ready to step back. Their endurance is amazing, proof of love for the music. Rush is still going too, even adding new members to fill in for lost legends. The music lives on, and new fans are discovering riffs that have stood the test of time.

Ann Wilson of Heart, now 74, recently returned to the stage after battling cancer and an elbow injury. She’s performing on Heart’s Royal Flush tour from a wheelchair, explaining that balance issues make it unsafe to stand. Yet there she is—belting “Barracuda” with the same fire as ever. That’s rock and roll.

Jon Bon Jovi’s battle has been more personal. Now 63, he’s younger than most of the legends still touring, but even he has felt the toll of time. After struggling with a vocal cord problem that required surgery, he admitted he almost quit. That has to be tough—being one of rock’s biggest stars and realizing the one tool you’ve relied on your whole life might not work the same way. But now, with his voice back, Bon Jovi has announced their Forever Tour for 2026—their first in four years. I’ll be at opening night, July 7, at Madison Square Garden. I don’t expect his voice to sound like it did in 1985—but that’s not the point. The point is he’s still out there, giving everything he has left.

Time catches up to everyone—even the loudest frontmen. Axl Rose has battled vocal strain for years. Once one of the most powerful vocalists in rock, he’s struggled but not given up the drive that got him where he is. Vince Neil of Mötley Crüe gets plenty of criticism for his vocals, yet he still hits the stage night after night to play the songs we grew up on. David Lee Roth, the ultimate showman, has had to pull back, too. His sky-high screams are now more of a commentary on his past.

But they’re all legends. They’ve given us decades of fire and attitude, and they still deserve the same respect they earned when they filled arenas. Anyone who’s ever screamed into a mic knows how fragile that gift is—and how cruel time can be to it. My take: if you don’t want to hear them singing not as perfectly as they once did, don’t buy a ticket. Simple. They’re still mostly selling out shows, by the way.

Of course, the other side of the story is when our heroes die too young. The “27 Club”—Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain, Amy Winehouse—represents that heartbreak. Those losses were sudden. But watching our surviving heroes age is different. These are the ones who made it through, who kept showing up, decade after decade. Maybe that’s why it hits harder when they finally go. They’ve always been there, so you always expect them to stay.

Seeing these aging icons makes you think about your own life. We all grow old alongside them. Their endurance reminds us that time keeps moving, and every moment counts. When your childhood heroes start limping, graying, and passing away, you realize just how precious time is.

The kid who once clutched that Ozzy autograph has grown up, and the world that once felt endless now feels fragile. But maybe that’s the lesson the music has been giving us all along: every moment matters, every note fades, and how we live our limited time is what counts.

So here’s to the ones still standing—and to the ones who’ve gone ahead. To Ozzy, Ace, and all the fallen rock soldiers. To the Micks, the Pauls, the Ringos, the Dylans, and the Daltreys and Townshends still giving it everything. To Ann Wilson, seated but not silenced. To Bon Jovi, singing through the scars. To Axl, Vince, and Diamond Dave, who may not hit every note anymore, but still hit us right where it counts. And to my mom, who gave me the kind of access no backstage laminate ever could—a front-row seat to the golden age of rock and the reminder that time, like music, only matters when it’s lived out loud. And to those still on top of their game, take a moment to remember: time is real, and every performance is a gift.

 

 

 

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