“Now my whole world opens up in different rhymes and tunes
With highways making up the verse
And then suddenly I see the light of something called the moon
And though my path is planned, it’s not rehearsed.”
- The Crippled Lion, Michael Nesmith
Mike. Michael Nesmith. Nez. The one with the green hat. The one whose mom invented Liquid Paper.
For me, it was Papa. Papa Nez. The eccentric uncle to us all.
Michael Nesmith, of the Monkees, and so, so much more, left us this past weekend at the age of 78 — and returned to the psychedelic, xylophone-shaded, shimmering sunset pond of a universe from which he came. He gave us glimpses of the beautiful place — in his eyes, in his voice, and the palette of his paintbrush lyrics. But we never truly knew the full expanse of beauty that lived in his soul and mind. And now we never will. And maybe that’s the way it should be. We’re not worthy.
Much has been written about Nez over the last few days – many exquisite personal reflections, including this lovely one by Rob Adams, many incredible news articles lauding his incredible contributions to music, pop culture, the art of the music video, and basically inventing country-based rock. While these celebrations are so incredibly deserved, I can’t help but be a bit melancholy he’s not here to read them. There’s also a great musical tribute that I hope offers a bit of Papa Nez’s genius to the new generation by Ben Gibbard of Death Cab for Cutie. Watch it! One would think there’s nothing left to say. But I’m going to try.
I fell in love with the Monkees a bit late by nature of my 1970’s birth. Not TOO late, as their rise to fame was in the late 1960’s with their meteoric rise and equally cataclysmic fall from glory. I didn’t pay any heed to all that. I saw those smiling faces on my greatest hits album and played it over and over again in my vintage 70’s era party basement, completely with pleather barstools on which I could spin repeatedly along with my vinyl. My first Monkee love was Micky Dolenz. Then as I grew older it was Davy and the Brady Bunch era. But as I matured, I realized that for all the mugging for the camera and the screaming girls, Nez was the quiet captain who steered the Monkees ship.
Mike’s relationship with the Monkees was notoriously complicated. There’s the famous moment when he punched a hole in a wall arguing for the Monkees to have musical control over their own content. And looking back on his musical catalogue, can you blame him for his anger? This guy had decades of music inside him and he and his band mates were being forced to mock playing other peoples’ songs. Without his furious passion, we’d have lost out on so much incredible music.
Those who know me love analogies. I can’t help but see the parallel of Mike’s driving passion about the love of music in his speech in the Monkees episode “The Devil and Peter Tork.” In the episode, my favorite, Peter, a gifted musician himself, in his sweet naivete makes a deal with The Devil to be able to play the harp. To save Peter’s soul, the Monkees participate in a trial. In order to prove the contract invalid, Mike passionately argues that The Devil gave Peter nothing. The passion for playing the music was always inside of him.
“Don’t you understand what that means, when you have that inside of you? If you love music, man, you can play music. People say, I can’t carry a note, I’m tone deaf. But nobody is tone deaf! If you love music, you can play music, and all it takes is just love. Because, baby, in the final analysis, love is power. That’s where the power’s at. You want to tell me you gave it to him? But I know different, because I’m a musician.”
I wonder if that was the speech he gave in that office before he punched the wall?
Following the break-up of the Monkees, Mike continued to do his own thing — successful song writing, pioneering video production, and much more. During those years he did not always have such kind things to say about the Monkees and as a Monkee fan, and I can’t speak for others, that hurt sometimes. But I’ve come to realize that it was less about the Monkees and more about the frustrating situation they were all in.
The comeback in 1986 was super fun and MTV gave them new life and legions of fans. Mike was not entirely participatory but did make one surprise appearance in 1986, ironically at the same theater that he and Micky would perform their last show together on Nov. 14.
My children both love the Monkees now and especially Mike. My 12-year-old has a vintage Monkees poster on her wall. My 14-year-old freaks over birthday wishes from Micky Dolenz and the three of us harmonize to Propiniquity, one of our favorite Nez tunes, in the car on a regular basis.
“I’ve known you for a long time but I’ve just begun to care,” is the chorus, and is such a perfect Nez expression of affection. It’s over before you can figure out if he complimented you or not but still it makes you smile and want to hug him after you consider giving him the finger. #PapaNez
That’s Nez though. And that’s why, while I dreamed of one day interviewing him in my various celeb interviews, I truly was afraid to. I couldn’t have this larger than life adoration be dashed because I would be easily dashed to pieces by his razor sharp wit or verbal gymnastics.
How do you interview someone who writes lyrics like this?
“But staying with her, and my little bit of wisdom,
broke down her desires like a light thru a prism;
into yellows and blues and a tune that I could not have sung.”
- Joanne, Michael Nesmith
It was better to always stay close enough for his light to hurt my eyes and keep me warm than have that love set on fire.
And that’s what I started to think about over this last year. I belong to a lot of Monkees fandom and there’s been talk about him being ill. Even Ben Gibbard mentioned he saw Mike in June and while he was still Nez, he was clearly unwell. Many fans questioned the wisdom of him doing the Mike and Micky farewell tour. I certainly began to worry when reviews came back that he wasn’t playing guitar (unheard of) and struggled with some of the words.
But the over-arching reviews were that Nez was joyous, thrilled to be on stage, emotional at times. We get the “farewell” tour a lot. Part of me now and I’m sure many others realize for Mike, this was, quite literally, a farewell tour — and he knew it.
They say the soul often holds on and waits until the body is truly ready to let go. For all of Mike’s complicated relationship with the Monkees, I find it truly poignant that the one place he wanted to be as he took his last journey toward that “Angel Band” was to be loved and celebrated by and with Monkees fans, his beloved Micky Dolenz by his side. As for the words, we got you, Mike. We’ll sing them for you.
And we as Monkee fans, whether we were there in person or not, we had our arms wide open to welcome back our band leader. He was never really gone, you see. He was just following the beat of a different drum for a while.
My gift in memory of Michael Nesmith is to commit to exploring as much of his music as I can. I’ve not done nearly enough. I hope he can forgive me for being late.
Thank you, Papa Nez. I hope you are soaring over a twilight-lit prairie in your tricked out cowboy-wear, giving us your famous wink from just beyond that purple moon.
“Though the essence is gone,
I have no tear to cry for her
and my only thought of her is kind.”
- Joanne, Michael Nesmith
❤
Creative conjurings 
Great piece.