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Just received word that Kirk Rundstrom passed away today. Though Rundstrom was not from Denver, his main band, Split Lip Rayfield, passed through here often enough that, to many, he and his crew felt like locals.

Last spring, he was diagnosed with esophageal cancer and only given a short time to live. Refusing to go gently into that good night, Rundstrom was determined to make the most of whatever time he had left by keeping on performing until he no longer could.

Roy Kasten had the distinct privilege of speaking with him one last time this past August; that interview can be found here. Although his passing seemed inevitable, the news still comes as a shock. With a heavy heart, here's the statement that his label, Bloodshot Records, issued just a short while ago:

Just over four decades ago, actor Peter Sellers presented the Beatles with a Grammy they'd won for the song "A Hard Day's Night." In a film of this event that was shown during the 1965 Grammy telecast, Sellers referred to the prize as a "Grandma award" -- and his joke rings true to this day. The folks behind the Grammys have tried to modernize the image and reputation of the ceremony in recent years, and they've succeeded to some degree; things aren't as bad as they were back when Christopher Cross was hauling away trophy after trophy. But last night's 49th annual spectacle (and Dixie Chicks love-fest) demonstrates why the Grammys remain the most dubious of the major entertainment-industry honors -- and considering how little credibility the Emmys have, that's really saying something.

The drive into work this morning was a thing of absolute beauty. A heavy fog was draped around the city like a thick winter coat, and Born in the Flood's latest (specifically "In Debt to the Heart") was on my iPod. I was staring out the window as the 122x made its way down the I-25 corridor, when suddenly a typically humdrum stretch of road in between Thornton Parkway and 88th was transformed into a stunning backdrop for an impromptu concept video. With inexplicable cactus-like dessert shrubbery jutting out through frozen tundra framed by the walls of fog, the image looked like a widescreen adaptation of an Anton Corbijn photo come to life. And Born in the Flood provided the perfect soundtrack; as Nathaniel Rateliff's voice ascended heavenward (evoking Sean Kelly in the process -- unwittingly, I'm sure), a murmuring Rhodes and droning organ braided together beneath.

It was a remarkable scene -- but, of course, I could just be romanticizing the whole thing. If you haven't noticed, I'm completely smitten right now with If This Thing Should Spill and literally counting the minutes until tomorrow night's show at the Gothic. Regardless, it's these brief, unexpected moments in life that steal the breath from my lungs. -- Dave Herrera

Have you Backbeat readers out there been wondering what happened to Playlist? For a variety of reasons, our regular collection of national and local CD reviews hasn't appeared in the published issues of Westword since December -- and as a result, the critiques we prepared for January papers are no longer as timely as they once were.

Fortunately, a new Playlist is slated to appear in the February 8 edition, and to whet your appetite for the feature's return, here's a taste of what you missed: blurbs about four national albums (by Nas, Ghostface Killah, Clinic and Clipse) and two discs by local acts (Witch Doctor and Strange Powers).