By Mark Brown
Special to MSN Music
Robert Johnson and Hank Williams were the innovators, as usual. They set the
benchmark: Die early and unexpectedly and you'll become an even bigger legend
(and occasionally a huge record seller) than you might have been had you
stayed alive and ... more gone on to record Christmas discs and Motown albums.
Instead, Williams had a posthumous No. 1 single with "Your Cheatin' Heart,"
and Johnson's work became a touchstone of classic rock. The lesson is obvious:
The longer you stay around, the more the chance to screw up your legacy (hello,
Rod Stewart).
With some, death won't help. When Keith Richards dies no one will say, "Whoa,
I didn't see that coming." The run on Rolling Stones albums will be minimal; anyone who cares
already has everything they need. When John Denver's experimental plane plunged
into Monterey Bay in 1997, well, let's just say that retailers had no problem
keeping "Poems, Prayers and Promises" in stock.
In the past the news traveled slowly. It only took minutes (or seconds)
for Michael Jackson fans to start the commercial avalanche that
will likely permanently knock the Eagles off the top of the
biggest-album-of-all-time chart (don't count them out yet; Glenn Frey could
still order a hit on Don Henley and goose some sales).
As Michael Jackson is reincarnated from rehearsal footage on movie screens
around the globe, we offer these case histories in how stars' musical legacies
are shaped after their final notes are played.
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