Farewell, Davy Jones.
I watched The Monkees, both during its original run and later, when and wherever it was rebroadcast. I especially enjoyed their 1967 release Headquarters, and as multiple-disc bootlegs of their albums began to appear in the early 2000s, I slurped them down and slogged through the usual assortment of false starts and arcane failures. Their brilliant, ill-fated 1968 feature film Head, directed by the oft-great Bob Rafelson and written, as has been noted here before, by a still-struggling Jack Nicholson, should be on everyone's queue/mantle/USB stick. And their rather too obvious but nonetheless outré 1969 NBC special 33⅓ Revolutions Per Monkee (which featured a crazed opening turn by Julie Driscoll and Brian Auger) is worth getting wasted to again and again.
Most of you know what Davy looked like, even if you were born decades after the fact. No need to post screencaps here. The Monkees were what they were, but from 1967-1969 they aggressively charted a gleeful course of self-immolation. For that, all artists owe Jones and his colleagues an immense debt of gratitude...
The New York Times' obit is here.