In life this life, few have given as much as Creed’s Scott Stapp to the cultural zeitgeist. What can I say about the man that hasn’t already been said? Zealot, dork, bad Eddie Vedder impressionist. A barometer by which to gauge our fellow humans. Anything besides befuddled amusement at the entire being of this man could instantly clue you in on who to avoid socially.
This was a precious gift.
Scott Stapp. You took Grunge and brought it to the Saddle Ranch. You spawned an entire musical genre rendering second rate frat house Pearl Jam rip offs as potential chart toppers. A man whose backlash may have been responsible for the Stone Temple Pilots entire existence. Without Scott Stapp there is no Staind. No Puddle of Mudd. No 3 Doors Down. Think about what we would have lost if Stapp had drowned at his adult Baptism.
We will always have the memories. We will think of Scott Stapp on baseball’s Opening Day, as we hold our hot dogs in hand while the Florida Marlins take the field, and, with tears in our eyes, we’ll say “Let’s play ball it’s game day!” without laughing. We will hold dear the image of your HGH inflated biceps. We will always remember when we sang Creed at karaoke and some biker guy tried to fight us. That time Kenny Johnson trashed his parents house to your unadulterated and passionate music. The potential date rapes you set the mood for.
I suppose at this point I should mention Scott Stapp isn’t actually dead.
He’s just on a permanent paranoid delusional meth binge on which he has blown all his money and alienated his family. Of course that’s not so bad because you have to realize his wife married Scott Stapp. Why would you possibly want to hang out with her.
He is convinced Obama has drained his bank accounts. He talks to the shadow people. He is Strep Throat. Excuse me, Scott Staph.
He jumped out of a hotel window and was saved by rapper T.I. How many people can say that? Scott Stapp has lived his life Goddammit. Sorry Scott. If you read this I meant to say Gosh while I took a giant hit of meth. Priorities.
Luckily, Scott Stapp, for all intents and purposes, is no longer with us.
But he gave us something. Something that can never be taken away. The ability to do an impression of him and get a solid laugh, even if we aren’t good at impressions.
This is how mesmerizingly clownish of a man Scott Stapp was.
Rest In Peace Sir. If its any conciliation, you’re on the magical merry-go-round now.
Soar like a Marlin Sir.