Other Peoples' Songs: Oh My Stars

Rest easy, Michael Hurley

It didn’t occur to me that Michael Hurley could die. He seemed beyond the rules that limit the rest of us; he seemed immortal. He was always there, either onstage at the Laurelthirst or playing in the windgusts at the end of an Astoria pier. He had an endless queue of musicians who would drop anything to be his backing band. John Moen, the drummer in my band, always said that his retirement plan included biking to the Laurelthirst with his drum kit in a buggie to play happy hours with Hurley. This plan, like every other image I think we all had of Michael Hurley, hinged on him living forever, which it seemed like he would. So it was some surprise to arrive back stateside last week to hear the news that Michael had died.

I didn’t know him well. I always said hi when I saw him, be it backstage at a festival or around town in Portland or Astoria, but I was always a bit intimidated. I know I should not have been. He was always kind and approachable, willing to spare a few minutes to chat.

I saw him play this song at the Laurelthirst many moons ago — I remember his backing band then included The Decemberists’ old drummer Rachel Blumberg and the great PDX music stalwart Lewi Longmire. I remember them watching him intently, this gray-bearded guy in his engineer’s cap seated at the front of the stage, following all the bends and weaves he threw into his tempos and chord changes, always just on the edge of falling apart but managing to stick the landing each time. I think it remains one of the very best love songs ever written. I’ve done it here in tribute to the songwriter.

Rest in power, Michael Hurley.