It’s hard to lose someone when they’re such a public person like Dave Marsh was and the whole world is mourning them. It strangely makes it worse. I feel like I have to prove I have the right to mourn him. Which is a bizarre thing to feel about this fearless, dogged, preternaturally talented writer I’ve known and loved since 1969. A towering soul who weighed barely 110 pounds, he was pale and a little wan, as Detroiters who have been inside all winter could be, and looked a lot like Humble Pie’s Steve Marriott with better hair.

Much better hair.