J.D. Souther, 1945-2024

While walking one day through an abandoned gold mine, you spot a shiny old oil jar. Curious, you pick it up, rub off some of the dust that’s covering its spout, and — behold! — a glowing aquamarine genie emerges. You’ve rehearsed this scene a million times in your head and know exactly what to say: “I want to be rich, I want to be famous, and I want to be a rock star.” “I can make you a rock star,” the genie replies, “and I can make you kinda famous — but not super famous. Is that all right?” “But aren’t you supposed to grant all three of my wishes?” “Waddayou want from me? I’m just a genie! I’m not God! … Well? You gonna take the deal or not?” “Yeah, yeah. Fine.” Congratulations! You now have the life of J.D. Souther.