This week's issue of Rolling Stone featured an EXCLUSIVE interview with Sting -- er, Phil Collins. (Remember when RS wrote about shit that was relevant, instead of resorting to a loop of Mick Jagger career retrospectives and top-5,000 lists in which the first 1,000 entries are Bob Dylan?)
Anyway, Collins is now apparently a recluse in Switzerland. The part no one can get enough of: He admits he's had suicidal thoughts.
"I wouldn't blow my head off," he tells the magazine. "I'd overdose or do something that didn't hurt. ... A comedian who committed suicide in the '60s left a note saying,'Too many things went wrong too often.' I often think about that."
Weird -- we kind of remember thinking about that a few times, too. Pretty sure it was every time we ever heard "In the Air Tonight."
Not that it's a bad song (and who could truly hate it after watching Mike Tyson do an air drum-punch to that epic moment the beat drops?). It's just that it's goddamn depressing. And not in that satisfying way that makes you mad, like -- "I hate myself! Yeah! I suck! Let's get hammered!"
More like that creepy, subtle way that makes you actually not want to go on living.
The candlelight flickers. Your blood is mixing with the bathwater. Just when you're wondering if you should reach for the phone before it's too late, the '80s pop sensation whispers in your ear:
"Well, if you told me you were drowning/
I would not lend a hand"
And you thank Phil for reminding you that nobody has ever loved you.
Then you remember that scene in "The Lion King" where Simba and Nala are falling in love beneath a waterfall. Which is actually kind of nice, until you also remember that Mufasa dies in the end.
At that point, it's all over.