We the members of Blue Oyster Cult have recently decided to announce a major shift in our core values, and we thought we should do so as publicly as possible. As you know, we're famous for a song that advocates a strong pro-Reaper ethos. We no longer subscribe to this philosophy. We want to let you, our fans, know that you should go ahead and fear the Reaper. Really. The Reaper is just bad.
Our strong antipathy toward the Reaper has actually been building for some time. Most of us in BOC are in our 60s. Sure, when we were younger we liked the idea of flirting with the Reaper. But now the Reaper terrifies us. We wear sunscreen and get regular prostate exams. We've each gone to a funeral within the past year. One of us -- we don't want to say who -- voted for John McCain, because he "felt like he could identify with the guy." The beauty of the Reaper is no longer some vague spiritual idea we can bullshit about while driving around higher than Jesus in a large van painted over with wizards and women in fur bikinis riding dragons. The Reaper is a cold hard fact. You should definitely fear him.
The main reason we want our Reaper-fear known is we are tired of receiving email from the friends of dead BASE jumpers, chain smokers, and people who harnessed themselves to high-speed trains. Often these people will say the deceased expressed a love for our music. We would like to reply: Don't put this on us! Don't make us responsible for every jackass in a Spandex jumpsuit who gets himself dismembered on the face of a cliff.
And if you are reading this while standing on top of a radio antenna holding a flimsy parachute please, please, please just climb down and go do something that won't kill you. There is nothing beautiful about the Reaper. We're sorry we suggested otherwise. We were young, and we didn't know anything. You know what is beautiful? A nice game of Sudoku. We all play it, even the roadies. Unstrap yourself from whatever contraption is about to decapitate you and start learning that. And eat plenty of fiber. Fiber's good too.
And while we're on the subject of terrible email: If you have footage of your college a cappella group performing our song, along with some some sort of joke about a cowbell... please go fuck yourself.
In Memoriam - James Alan McPherson, Pulitzer Prize winning writer NYTimes obit for Jack Davis.