The Karma of Obituaries

Be careful what you do in life.

Two weeks ago, the singer/songwriter Eric Carmen passed away at the age of 74. Carmen was the frontman for early Seventies power pop pioneers the Raspberries (“Go All the Way”) and had solo hits like the FM staple “All by Myself” (1975), “Never Gonna Fall in Love Again” (1976), and — less iconic but still an earworm — “Hungry Eyes” (1987).

So what was the headline on NJ.com?

“Trump Supporting Singer, Songwriter Dies.”

Wow. Setting aside the question of comma usage, that one really made my brow go up.

I wasn’t a particularly big fan of Carmen’s, though I liked the Raspberries fine, and since his death we’ve been regaled with tales of how all kinds of critically revered rockers from Lennon to Springsteen were fans. And frankly, if you support or supported Trump, I don’t really care if your reputation gets besmirched: in my book, you’ve already besmirched yourself — bad.

But still, that headline was striking.

You can live a whole life, accomplish some pretty significant things, and when you die, still be reduced to a single incident or aspect of your time here on Earth, if that thing is explosive enough.

Whatever happened to nil nisi bonum?