I walked into a record store the other day. Half-heartedly, I started flipping through the CDs. Nothing grabs my interest. It's right before Christmas, when the "best of the best" music has been shoved in front of John Q. Shopper. "You've just gotta buy this as a present for so-and-so." Big deal. Why should I reward mediocrity? I start with the A's. Nothing there. Up to the C's. I see "her" CDs, and it pisses me off.

I drive to work. I start punching the buttons on my car stereo. More trash. I push in a tape. I know I have an attitude. I have for some time now. The best thing to have happened to music in the last ten years is gone. I just miss Kevin.

From the first time I heard "Last Plane Out," I was hooked. I remember listening to it. "WHO is that singing?" When I got to work, I called KLOS, the radio station. "Toy Matinee," they said. I went to three different record stores after work until I found it. There was only one copy, and I felt like I had found the golden treasure. I made a tape and played it for weeks until it wore out in my car. Then I made another . . . and another when it wore out. That's continued for years. It's one of my favorite recordings. My kids grew up singing the songs. I grew up singing along.

The lyrics were incredible. The songs were thought provoking, haunting, intricate, and wonderful. I had found something to take the place of my Beatles. Here was a group that had yet to sell out to commercialized ho-hum top 40 garbage. And the singer? His name was Kevin Gilbert. I kept my ear open to find out when the next recording would be released. But it was a long time before I heard anything from him.

Then Kev went solo. I was listening to Kevin on the Mark and Brian radio show in Los Angeles. He was visiting, and brought along a tape of his remake of "Kashmir." I even remember where I was when I heard it. Just getting off the freeway, when those first notes began. I was stunned, and elated, and so very impressed! I started yelling at the radio when "Kashmir" finished. "Right on Kevin! All Right!! Yeehaw!!!" People in the next car were looking at me at the stop light. I didn't care.

One day I was at the doctor's office, and I sat leafing through the pages of some entertainment magazine. I don't know why, but I always flip through and look at the obits. And there it was. I froze. No, this couldn't be the same Kevin. Could it? It didn't say much, just a couple of lines. I couldn't find out anything on the radio. When I got home, I signed on the net and did searches. Then I found Ender's memorial page. I went numb. I sat there reading the rest of the page with tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat. He was only 29. What happened? Why? I couldn't believe it. I felt like my best friend had died. I felt like John Lennon had died all over again.

I still feel like that.

These days, I hunger for anything I can find about Kevin. I've got the video interview. I've found other Kevin fans. I've been able to get a few tapes here and there of Gilbert rarities. It helps. But it's like a fix. After awhile, I want more. Kev was a genius - both musically and lyrically. His voice touches me in the places of my mind and my heart that very few people have access to. I know that sooner or later, I won't find anything new. But I keep trying.

Kevin, if you can look down from above and read this, I'm angry and hurt that you left us. It just wasn't time for you to "check out." You would have made it big with Genesis, or Kaviar, or on your own. I know that in my heart. It was in the stars. You were loved. You are still loved. And terribly missed.

You're in my prayers, Kev. You always will be.