For women of a certain age, the loss of Davy Jones (dead of a heart attack this week) of Monkees fame, conjures both sadness and bettersweet glee. Sadness at his passing, but a certain bittersweet glee in recalling your Monkees crushes, many of which that were most certainly directed at Davy. Among pre-pubescent girls in the 60s, the crushes shifted but most any girl would claim that the “cutest one” was Davy. (Mickey was funny, Peter was goofy, Mike was the “real musician” who counted the days until he inherited a $25 million Liquid Paper fortune that would free him from such commitments.)
The Beatles and the Monkees and the other British Invasion bands exposed us to to the sexy British accent which prompted us to watch the Avengers and comb record stores for the British bands. There was little sexier than a mop top with a sense of humor and a killer accent. Unlike the likes of say, Keith Richard, Davy aged well into middle age.
But more than that, but all accounts, Davey was a decent guy, and more importantly, a Cat Guy. He owned four cats at the time of this death. He was also an avid horseman.
I saw Davy Jones a few years ago in a production of Grease. Before the show I felt sorry for him, quite the step down from his heyday fame. But he gave the production his heart and soul. He was phenomenal. Obviously he didn’t take himself too seriously and charmed every fan in the theatre. Even the ones who had no clue who he was. I seriously had to rethink my Peter Tork crush after that performance.
So here we mourn the passing of a girls’ crush band member who loved cats, gave it his all, and leaves a little hole in the heart of every young girl who ever gathered three friends around her to play “The Monkees.”
And is there a cat alive who wouldn’t KILL to drive the Monkeemobile???