Hologram Me, Fool!

Hologram Psalm One next?

The very thought of watching live performances from dead artists is excitingly creepy. Tupac’s Coachella hologram has sparked unlimited conversation regarding the future of our concert-going experiences. Joe “Cash a Check” Jackson has been teasing the press with a Jackson 5/MJ reunion tour. I’ve been joking that if they make a James Brown or Freddie Mercury hologram I am SO there.

All jokes aside, what about the deeper, less capitalistic aspects of what these holograms actually represent? What about the Peace we claim to want our fallen folks to Rest in?

When I was younger, I was able to obtain my late father’s diaries — they were pretty interesting reads. He had everything in there: personal accounts of his time in the armed forces, unfinished songs, fantastic sci-fi stories, and other treasures. There were even talks of publishing a few of his works, but it really didn’t sit well with a number of people in my family. To be honest with you, it didn’t sit well with me, either.

Back then I really didn’t understand why it bothered me so much. It’s crazy to admit, but not until all this Tupac hologram commentary did I really start thinking deeply about the true concept of legacy after death.

True legacy. In the present case, our digital lives after death.

Sure, they tell artists that our art lives on after we go. This is undoubtedly true. But what about Frank Sinatra? What about Nat King Cole? What about ‘Pac? What about the Biggie verses placed on beats after his death? What about ‘Pac’s song choice at Coachella? What if my family ultimately decided to publish my Dad’s work after his death? What would he have wanted the world to know? What would be off limits? What choices are “right”?

If nothing else, it’s just another thing to consider when composing your Last Will and Testament.

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