The Wizard of Falcon Heights

Today marks the seven-year anniversary of the passing of not only one of my dearest friends, but one of the most remarkable human beings I could ever hope to have met, the likes of which I'm not likely to encounter again.

It was no small achievement, to put it mildly, that an unknown, previously unpublished writer from such a decidedly unfashionable place as Minnesota could have put Progressive Music back on the map after so many years of critical revulsion and outright dismissal by popular culture. Indeed, all the more unlikely that such an endeavor was achieved with the full support and backing of the very same publishing organization that had for decades been so instrumental to the marginalization of musical talent outside the confines of mainstream, commercially-minded taste: Billboard.  

Yet this is precisely what one Bradley Smith of Falcon Heights, Minnesota, managed to achieve. He did so alone, out of a single-minded pursuit of excellence and driven by a passion for sharing the things he loved most with the people around him.  

 

 

Bradley C. Smith was a warm, exceptionally generous and preternaturally gifted individual whose talents often far exceeded the expectations of those who were fortunate enough to make his acquaintance. His was a world all his own making, an enchanted realm of fantasy and intuition, guided by a keenly perceptive sensibility and informed by a formidable intellect that rarely accepted easy answers or shied away from uncomfortable truths. Brad just didn't accept the world as it was presented to him by his culture, his country, his peers and those in positions of power and authority. And his committment to justice and the right to self-determination often put him at odds with some of society's most cherished values and assumptions, much to the consternation of many who knew him. He had a knack for cutting through to reveal the most penetrating insights into the human condition, in all of its banality and corruption, in ways that seemed to transcend the vicissitudes of mortal existence. His was a rare gift, and it was a genuine privilege to have shared his company on so many occasions. 

I will always remember him fondly, and the void left by his absence will sadly remain with me for the remainder of my days. 

Rest in peace, Brad. You will not be forgotten.